


A breath worth of life

by Tedah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Breathplay, Casual Sex, Cruise, Cursebreaker Draco Malfoy, Death, Depression, Domesticity, Draco is father of the year, Grief counselling, Grief/Mourning, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Harry is not even in the competition, Healer Hermione Granger, Heavy Drinking, Hospitals, It Takes a Village to Raise a Child, Italians do it better, Kópakonan saves the day, Loneliness, Long-Haired Draco Malfoy, M/M, Magic Theory, Minor Character Death, POC Hermione, Pirates, PoC Harry, Preparing for Death, Ron is father of the year, Self-Hatred, Short-haired Draco, Short-haired Harry, Soulmates, Suicidal Thoughts, Terminal Illnesses, Therapy, Trans Luna Lovegood, Treasure hunts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Vomit, Weddings, blended families - Freeform, breaking up, close encounters with ponies puffins sheep and other assorted fauna, hermione deserves all the awards, long-haired Harry Potter, love is the most powerful magic, parenting, proposal, questionable medical ethics get handwaved here for the sake of fun, vactioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 39,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26155087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedah/pseuds/Tedah
Summary: ‘...that moment when everything clicks into place, when the circumstances are right, your magic aligns, and you touch your soulmate. You'll know then, Draco, my darling.’ His mother used to look at his father with such devotion then. ‘It will feel like breathing fresh air for the first time, you'll know you'd been living on borrowed time until then but no more. There is an entire lifetime in that one breath.’Finding your soulmate is the one way a wix can hope to live past thirty, but if he can’t have that with Astoria, Draco is ready to check out, let his magic eat him up and be done.Harry, on the other hand, isn’t about to leave any stone unturned or path unbeaten until he finds the one person meant for him before that fated birthday rolls around. After every failed attempt he grows more and more convinced that whatever Voldemort did to him might have made him unlovable, but he will go down fighting if he has to.Hermione still thinks the whole thing is cancer but what does she know?
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy (past), Astoria Greengrass/Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Other(s), Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 141
Kudos: 285
Collections: H/D Hurt!Fest 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quicksilvermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilvermaid/gifts).



> I have to thank the loveliest J for holding my hand and kicking my ass in equal measure so that this baby could be born. all the supportive friends who in some way were part of this journey. @acupofslytherin thank you for this wonderful prompt, I hope the liberties I took with it are well received.
> 
> Most of all thank you Quicksilvermaid and Alpha_Exodus for creating this fest where I could feel evil with no remorse.  
> Happy (early? late? depending on when this goes up) birthday Q, I hope you enjoy the fruit of your labour and the horrible coping mechanisms.
> 
> Mind the tags! There is a lot of discussion of premature death and preparing to die so read responsibly.
> 
> That said, I tagged happy ending for a reason.
> 
> \--
> 
> Remember to leave some love for the creator if you can! Come reblog this work and view others from this fest [HERE](https://hd-hurtfest.tumblr.com/) on the H/D Hurt!Fest tumblr page!

Draco was happy.

Because that's what good decent people do at weddings. They are happy for their friends sealing their union of love. Decent people are  _ happy  _ when their friends find joy.

So, Draco was happy. 

He put on his formal robes, strapped Scorpius to his chest and showed up to the garden ceremony. He smiled, congratulated the happy couple and had a good time. Because it didn't matter that the love of his life was getting married to his best friend, Draco was happy for them. That's what one does when the people they love most in the world find their perfect match. 

After all, this was what he'd always wanted when he thought about Pansy or Astoria getting married. He imagined a lovely spring day, white chairs on the grass, the smell of flowers in the air and a venue filled with friends and family. Of course, never in his life would he have imagined they would get married to each other. He always pictured Pansy standing at his side as he swore to love and keep Astoria forever, welcome her love and cherish it until death did them part.

Draco knew that Astoria was far too good at reading him not to suspect what was going on in his mind, but he wasn't going to let her see it written on his face. It didn't matter that he was tearing up inside as he watched her walk down the aisle, looking radiant in her white gown, with the breeze playing with her hair. Her smile was sweeter than the cherry blossoms and Draco wasn’t going to dim it.

He brushed his fingers through the tuft of blond hair on top of Scorpius' round head, checking that the enchanted baby carrier he'd had made for the occasion was still secure. He smiled when Scorpius blinked and gave him a gummy grin, and for a moment the pain lodged behind his breastbone faded. If nothing else, he had his son binding him to Astoria in a way magic and destiny had elected not to.

"Look, Mummy's coming." He waved Scorpius' chubby little hand at her as she walked past them giving Scorpius a little wave.

He held his child tight to his chest and kept a smile on his face as he watched Astoria start her life with Pansy, her soulmate. How could Draco not celebrate such a momentous occasion? It was all he'd ever wanted for Pansy: finding her soulmate and being happy, growing old and grey, turning into a frail little witch, a long life fuelled by the kind of magic that only a settled soul bond could grant. It didn't matter that for Pansy to get that Draco had to give up the childish illusion that Astoria might be it for him. She had always deserved better than him.

He pressed his lips to the top of his son's head, watching a smile spread on Astoria's face, bright and unguarded, that had so often been aimed at him. The wave of magic rolled over the gathered crowd as both ends settled. In a sick, masochistic, twisted way Draco really was happy to see Pansy, glowing in a sharp suit, take Astoria's hands and seal their bond in front of all their friends. 

In little more than six years Draco would turn thirty, the power of his live edge of wild magic, without being settled by a fulfilled soulbond would start eating through his magic and then, when that was gone, his life would quickly follow. There wasn't going to be a glorious moment of composition for him. He wasn’t going to let someone be brought down along with him.

But Astoria; Astoria had found Pansy. They were settled, and once he was gone they would raise Scorpius in a stable household full of love. He gently traced the bridge of his son’s tiny upturned nose with a finger, allowing himself a moment of tenderness. Who knew, maybe every once in a while, looking at their son, his face so much like his father, the girls would think of him after he'd gone. He hoped they wouldn't judge him too harshly, he hoped they wouldn't call him a fool for giving up so easily on this mad search for love that marked the coming of age of every wix. He'd been given three years with Astoria, deluding himself it could be something it wasn't. He'd waited every day for a moment that would never come, that moment his mother had told him about when he was a child; that moment when everything clicked into place, when the circumstances were right, your magic aligned, and you touched your soulmate.

‘You'll know then, Draco, my darling.’ She used to look at his father with such devotion then. ‘It will feel like breathing fresh air for the first time, you'll know you'd been living on borrowed time until then but no more. There is an entire lifetime in that one breath.’

She would kiss his forehead and tuck him into bed, reaching for his father's hand and leaving him to dream of that moment, wondering how his soulmate would look like. Was it someone he knew already? Were they just waiting to grow up enough for their magic to be ready to recognize each other? Or was it someone from far away? 

It didn't matter anymore, none of it mattered.

* * *

Draco was the epitome of cheerfulness and fun at the reception. He ignored the concerned glances Blaise kept giving him across the table and kept entertaining Mrs Greengrass instead. He stood up before the brides cut the cake to give a toast. He hadn't been able to be best man due to his unbound status but he could still give a speech to remember.

He straightened his shirt where it had been wrinkled by the baby carrier and smiled at the gathered people, sated after a sumptuous lunch, leaning back against light wooden chairs with elegant thin legs that had no business holding up the mass of some of the guests without the help of magic. 

"We were all made to love," he started, raising his glass. He walked up to the brides’ table, positioning himself so that the light of the setting sun streaming in from the high windows would hit him just right, softening the sharp lines of his clothes. 

"Magic’s nature makes it so that a lack of connection burns us up to our eventual destruction. But I argue that it is human nature that withers in the absence of it." He took a pause, glancing at the brides. "All of us are born with a need for love, but some are gifted with an unmatched capacity for it. Astoria, it took courage, and an incredible amount of reckless trust to make that gamble with me before that moment of certain clarity." She had a hand over her heart, looking at him with the same warm affection she always reserved for him. Draco had to call to every last ounce of restraint he had not to do something stupid like profess his undying love. "We were rewarded with the most perfect child for it, so you didn’t entirely waste your time with me. And Pansy." He slipped back on the pristine mask of a performer after that dangerous moment of vulnerability. "We all know I set the trends and you follow them." He paused to let everyone in the room chuckle.

He grinned at Pansy’s fond  _ screw you. _

"The patience it took for you to let time run its course until Astoria got her wits back and saw you was frankly astonishing. I will never be able to tell you how much your continued friendship means to me, the fact that you will have a hand in raising our child, teaching him all the most important things in life, like matching nail polish and lipstick, or the appropriate shoe for every occasion." He pretended not to notice Pansy discreetly drying her eyes. 

"I'm supposed to wish the brides the frailty of old age, white hair, and wrinkled skin here.” He addressed the crowd with a practised smile. “But we’re all fools if we think either of them is going to allow age to touch them, especially Pansy. She was always going to keep her body at its peak shape and certainly never let it age past thirty, even if she lives to see two hundred." He raised the glass amid cheers.

Pansy called out, "You got that one right!"

"To the brides, may they glow with love and magic until we're all old and grey!"

His toast was echoed through the hall as Astoria leaned in to give Pansy a small kiss.

Draco remained at the reception long enough for a dance with each of the brides. For a moment he allowed his tired heart to rest in the fantasy of Astoria dressed in white just for him. As he placed a hand at her waist and she smiled at him, resplendent with a fulfilled bond, he could almost believe the lie, Pansy's magic surrounding her was just as familiar to him as his own.

He couldn't take much more than one dance with Pansy. He kissed her forehead and smiled at her as if that could fool her. "Take care of her," he whispered, holding her close as the music died down.

"She can take care of herself, you're the one I have to worry about," Pansy replied, just as softly, her head resting on his chest for a long moment.

"Don't. I'll be fine."

He left the dance floor and picked up Scorpius from Blaise's arms. He was already getting fussy and if he didn't get him settled in bed soon, he'd start wailing. Scorpius was an agreeable child but he too had his limits. Blaise insisted on walking him out after he’d helped him secure the baby carrier.

"Daphne and I will be waiting for you for brunch tomorrow," Blaise reminded him. Draco was grateful he didn't voice the undercurrent question about his wellbeing. Just like Scorpius, there was only so much Draco could take before breaking and today he'd just about reached that point.

"I'll be there," Draco promised, not quite sure whether he was lying or not.

* * *

He took the Knight Bus back to his house. He bounced Scorpius lightly and hushed him gently whenever the warping of the bus hurt his ears. It was a less-than-ideal mode of transport but one had to make do when Apparating wasn’t an option. When the familiar sensation of the wards around his apartment washed over his shoulders, he felt all the tension leave his body and his legs could barely hold him up. He made it to the living room and sank down in the big squashy armchair for a moment, not even bothering to turn on the lights. There was just enough light filtering in through the window from the lampposts lining the street below. He took out the pin from his hair and let it fall down his shoulders before sinking into the soft covering of the chair, disappearing into the high back. He let the armrests be the outermost border of his world, a protection from the outside as he tucked his feet under himself and covered Scorpius’ head with a hand.

It was over. They were married, bonded. There was no going back now, not that there had ever been a chance of it once they recognized each other. Merlin, he was so wretched, his best friend found her one chance at a long, fulfilling life and he was sitting in the dark feeling sorry for himself. He had received so much more than he deserved. Saint Potter had made sure he faced no reprisal for his role in the war with Voldemort. He suspected it had been Granger to teach him how to spin the whole soulmates and love thing to lessen the sentencings and campaign against the Dementor’s Kiss. There was no way Potter had that kind of political acumen.

And he got three whole years with Astoria, the best ones of his life, and Scorpius, a son that he loved more than the air he breathed. He lightly traced the shell of Scorpius’ ear as he slept against his chest, a trail of drool seeping into his shirt, darkening the silk. He still wasn't sure how something so good and innocent could ever come from him. And yet there was no doubt Scorpius was his. By some magic, he managed to inherit the Malfoy colouring, both in hair and eyes, but retained Astoria's softer features, his tiny graceful nose and round perfect ears, the gentle bow of his lips.

"Let's get you into bed, mon bonheur," he whispered, before finally pushing himself up and taking the short walk down the hallway to the bedroom.

He carefully pulled Scorpius out of the baby carrier and placed him onto the changing table, moving slowly and trying to jostle him as little as possible. He roused a little when Draco took the tiny formal clothes off him to put him in yellow footie pyjamas. Draco let him grab onto his finger and hold onto it with his chubby little hands and surprising strong grip until he closed his eyes again.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised, knowing full well it wasn't true.

When Scorpius' grip loosened, he slowly extracted his finger and picked him up to deposit him in his crib. He could only hope that by the time Draco's moment came, Scorpius would have forgotten all his empty words and could find it in himself to forgive him, if not still think fondly of him.

He placed Scorpius' stuffed owl next to him and rocked the crib gently. He had six more years to enjoy his son. It had to be enough. Draco was just going to have to do his best and give him enough to last him a lifetime. There was no doubt Scorpius would find his match and grow old and grey. At least he was going to have his mother with him to tell him how that felt, the way his magic grounded once he found his anchor to the world. And Pansy was going to be a great stepmother.

* * *

After Astoria’s wedding, almost two years lapsed like a hazy dream. Draco went through the motions of finishing his training as cursebreaker and took a job at the first agency that would take him. Every time Draco blinked Scorpius seemed to get bigger in a terrifying rush to grow up.

He barely kept track of the months coming and going. Christmas came with cards from Japan by Pansy and Astoria, he greeted the New Year with Blaise and Daphne at Malfoy Manor, under the watchful eye of his mother. Astoria renewed Parkinson House just in time to host Scorpius’ second birthday party. Draco didn’t attend. Draco did his best to ignore April when it came and went, he had an excuse of a twenty-fifth birthday with his mother, and then it was Christmas again as if fall hadn’t existed at all.

Then rinse and repeat. The constant allusions to his unbound status became easier to ignore after a year of practice, the pain of walking the tidy cobbled path up to Parkinson House to hand off Scorpius was just barely dulled by familiarity, the thinly veiled guilt and open worry in Astoria’s eyes when she looked at him weighed like an accusation, of what, Draco wasn’t sure. Not even Malfoy Manor was safe anymore. He tended to visit his mother when Scorpius was at Parkinson House, especially in the fall and winter when it got dark early and being alone with his thoughts and the shifting shadows of his apartment became a dangerous game, but even she seemed to be in league with his friends.

"Draco, my love, you have to let me arrange something for you," Narcissa insisted, pouring them some tea. The sun was setting, bathing the sunroom with amber light that still struggled to warm Draco through.

Draco smiled tightly at that familiar refrain. He doubted even his mother could find someone who wanted to be affiliated with the Malfoy name bad enough to take the gamble of an artefact bond.

"I told you already, mother, I'm not interested in an arranged bond."

"Yes, you have, but a mother can hope her son finds some reason. You're not getting any younger and I hear you're not putting much effort into finding your genuine soulmate." She gave him a sideways glance as she stirred her tea.

"I'm perfectly aware of my age, mother," he assured, "and I'm putting my effort into raising my own child." He nodded towards where said child was sitting on the floor in front of the new ivory armchair his mother had put in, with some parchment and several colours. And if some of his art ended on the wooden panels of the floor itself instead of the paper, he knew for a fact Narcissa would quietly set a preservation charm over it and take care not to step over it.

He pointedly ignored her defeated sigh. "You're determined to leave me to grow old alone, then?"

"I'm determined to live out my days, as many or few I'm granted, in a dignified manner, doing my job as cursebreaker instead of running around in a pointless chase, looking for a white thestral," he rebutted. "Besides, I've provided you with a grandson, haven't I?"

"And you're going to let him grow up fatherless?"

Draco managed not to flinch, but that one hit deep. Leaving Scorpius behind was the one thing that twisted him up, that kept prodding him when he fell into the grey haze of days following each other, indistinguishable from one another. When he lay sleepless at night, thinking of finally checking out, he sometimes got up and walked across the hall to Scorpius’ room, cracked the door open and looked at him, in his tiny bed, his arms around that old stuffed owl, sleeping soundly, without a worry in the world. In those moments, Draco was forced to wonder if maybe, just maybe, it would be worth it to stay, just for him. But then the sun would rise, shedding unforgiving light on Draco's life and the world he lived in, he brought Scorpius over to Parkinson House before going to work, and reason came back to him, stark and solid like the exposed stone of the walls in front of him.

"He has two perfectly able mothers and a full set of godparents; he's not going to be lacking in the parental figures department." He neatly spread some jam on his scone, hoping that would put a stop to the entire discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off, remember to leave comments and support your local angst dealer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We start to see Harry's stellar coping mechanisms, crushing loneliness and a touch of anxiety.  
> Detailed warnings in the end notes.
> 
> Mind the tags and read responsibly, the angst, self loathing and self destructive tendencies are only just starting.

Harry balanced on the back legs of one the patient chairs in Hermione's office. She was late for their lunch break, but he didn’t mind waiting. Ever since she got her own office, she’d decorated it to make it more similar to the Gryffindor common room than something you’d find behind a mint green door at St Mungo’s. The warm wine red of the walls, the comfortable chairs, and vintage desk lamps all played into that aesthetic, making Harry feel at home as he played with one of the leaflets that littered her desk. 

She'd started reading up on the concept of soulmates after Ron first mentioned it offhandedly back in third year and upended their concept of the world. Learning they had magic had been life-altering, learning it was going to kill them by the time they turned thirty, or little later, had curbed a lot of the excitement.

Somehow Ron still found it romantic. The idea of being sustained by love. Hermione, despite being happily bonded with him since shortly after the battle of Hogwarts, had taken a distinctly different approach to the issue. She'd gone into healing and treated the whole thing as the wizarding equivalent of cancer, or Alzheimer's. She was determined to be the one to cure wizardkind of soulmates. Harry had to admit that, while he enjoyed lunch breaks in Hermione’s cosy office, he was in two minds about the issue.

Curbing mortality rates couldn't be honestly framed as a bad thing, but the idea of destroying that fairy tale moment that so many wizarding children dream of, finding someone to complete you, recognizing each other in that one defining moment when a lifetime was condensed in one breath... There weren't many things that still made Harry's heart flutter with hope and wonder like that, not after seeing what hate could do to a nation, not after dying and coming back to a world with approximately just as many issues as before.

"Are you thinking about joining the programme?" Hermione asked as she walked in and shrugged off her lab coat. She hung it on the salvaged wood coat hanger Ron had restored for her and nudged the door closed with her foot.

"Mh?"

She nodded towards the leaflet he was holding as she stepped around him to get to the other side of her desk, which prompted him to actually look at it.

_ Make your own way through life: age without a soulmate. _

Harry chuckled at the sprightly old lady on the cover, posing as a comic book superhero. Hermione had launched a series of experimental programmes through the years to try and work around wizardkind’s need for a soulmate to sustain life and magic. She’d had varying degrees of failure going from disastrous to just about encouraging, but she still couldn't explain why the few successes she had had happened, which meant she couldn't replicate them. But Hermione was Hermione and she couldn’t be dissuaded so easily. Judging by the amount of paperwork covering the desk and the fact that she’d added another cabinet against the opposite wall, she was still firing on all cylinders.

"Nah, I'm not that desperate yet," he replied, putting it down on her desk and rocking himself forward to set all four legs of the chair on the ground.

"It's not about being desperate, it's about advancing science and saving lives," Hermione argued, as she sat down and pushed some files aside to clear a space.

"You know how I feel, 'Mione," he told her mildly. They’d had the same discussion several times through the years, and while he had crossed the threshold of twenty-five a few months back, and most of their classmates had found their half, he wasn't ready to give up the search and look for alternatives.

With Pansy Parkinson bonding with Astoria Greengrass the previous year and Neville planning a spring wedding with Hanna, it left just him and a few others still unbound. Lavender, surprisingly enough, was in that number, Malfoy, Padma and maybe a Ravenclaw he forgot the name of, rounded the number.

"Yes, you're a man of romance," Hermione sighed, slouching down in her chair.

"That I am, and so is Ron so hush, we know you actually enjoy it. He made lasagna for lunch, by the way." He opened his messenger bag and pulled out two tupperwares of food, handing one over to Hermione.

"I knew I married him for something." She grabbed the box and tore the lid off, taking a deep breath as the smell of meat and cheese quickly filled the room.

"Because you love him and he's a wonderful guy?" Harry suggested.

"Yeah, yeah, but the food was a big part." The lasagna was still piping hot thanks to the preservation charms Ron had worked into all his food containers. "How are the new recruits?" she asked as they dug in.

Harry shrugged. "They're ok, still getting over the celebrity awe. Anderson and I might be going too soft on them this year."

Hermione hummed, she’d always been supportive of the sharp turn Harry took in his career path, leaving active duty only a few months after completing Auror training to become a trainer himself. She insisted that since then she'd seen him more alive and engaged than he'd ever been. Harry agreed wholeheartedly that since the end of the war, bringing up new green and hopeful trainees suited him better than chasing down criminals.

"How's the new programme going?" Harry pointed with his fork at the new set of flyers advertising for volunteers, teetering dangerously on the edge of the desk, held in place only by the base of the desk lamp.

"Not good," Hermione sighed. "Ever since those damned matchmaking services started popping up, I've been struggling to find volunteers."

"Shouldn't you be happy people are getting paired up and not dying in their prime? You know, on the account of you being in the business of saving lives?" Harry teased her.

"I would, if they were effective, but the only thing they actually do is make you meet people and hope for some stroke of luck you meet the right one under the right circumstances. There is no reliable algorithm to figure out with whom you might bond." She stabbed the lasagna with unprovoked violence. She was living proof of it. She and Ron had known each other for almost a decade before their magic aligned and they recognized the other half of their bond. After that, the wedding and Rose happened almost in a blink, Hugo a little while later.

Harry decided that riling her up more about it wasn't a good idea and quickly changed the topic to his actual favourite thing in the world.

"How are the kids?" He asked, as if he hadn't got the full update from Ron less than an hour prior when he swung by to get the food Hermione had forgotten home.

Hermione smiled. "Ron is having a full-on midlife crisis because Rosie is turning four and she's already demanding he teach her to read," she confided.

"She really is your daughter, uh?" Harry chuckled.

"Yeah, but Hugo is all Ron, sweet and curious, and you should see how he loves his sister. He's been following her around everywhere ever since he learned to walk."

She ended up telling him about a trip she wanted to take; it was technically work, but if she was going to do research in Greece she might as well bring the family along and make it a working vacation.

"It would be right after Neville's wedding so the weather is going to be nice and the kids love the sea."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and a man poking his head in.

"Healer Granger, a woman is here to see you."

"Thank you, Andy." Hermione glanced at the clock above the door and gasped, "Oh, look at the time, Harry, aren't you supposed to be back at the Ministry?"

Harry shook his head as he stood up. "I have a three pm appointment with Ginny and Luna's fertility expert."

Hermione's eyes widened. "That's today?"

Harry nodded with a small smile as he picked his uniform robes up from the back of the chair.

"Yes, if all the tests are in order, we will go ahead with artificial insemination right after."

"No second thoughts?" Hermione asked, only half-joking.

"You know I've always wanted a family, no matter how it looks like, and they're going to be amazing mothers, I'm all in," Harry assured.

"Let me know how it goes, ok? And don't forget Thursday dinner at the Burrow," she called after him as he opened the door.

"I never do." Harry waved at her and walked out.

He still had a bit of time before the appointment and St Mungo had recently renewed the paediatrics wing, so he might as well hang out there and take a look around before the round of events under the holidays. Merlin knew he remembered the way, he'd been there on more than enough charity outings, meeting sick kids whose one wish was to see him in person and be underwhelmed by how short he actually was. Surprisingly, he couldn't live up to the twelve feet tall manifests. He couldn't have if he'd been six feet, he certainly couldn't from five ten, and he categorically refused to wear charmed shoes to gain a few inches. He had vanquished the most dangerous dark wizard of the century, he didn’t need heels to be respected, for Godric’s sake.

* * *

"Am I late? I took the first portkey available, is she ok?" Ginny crashed through the double doors separating the corridor from the rest of the wing, stumbling right into Harry.

Harry laughed at the frazzled look on Ginny's face, she was still wearing at least half of her quidditch gear, he was surprised she didn't just fly all the way to the hospital from the training retreat.

"Luna just went into the delivery room, her blood pressure was low but everything else looks perfect. You should probably clean up and go in with her." He couldn't deny the bubbling excitement in his stomach at the thought of meeting the baby for the first time. He'd been there for most of the big milestones of the pregnancy, starting with conception, but meeting the little guy still made him slightly anxious.

Ginny nodded slowly and then more convinced before turning and heading to the closest bathroom down the hall. Then, she stopped and turned again.

"You should come in too, Harry."

"I can't, only family allowed, and you are her bonded soulmate," he reminded her.

"Well, that's bullshit. You're family and that baby wouldn't be here without you anyway."

Harry shook his head. "You can argue on my behalf for the next one, now if you don't hurry Luna is going to deliver without either of us." He shooed her in the direction of the bathroom.

Ginny nodded, but the determined angle of her eyebrows told Harry every last person in that room was going to get a piece of her mind. She came out just a couple of minutes later, with her gear stuffed in a bag. Her hair was up in a messy bun and her expression just as set and determined as when she’d walked in, she handed him the duffle bag and marched into the delivery room. He sat down on one of the plastic chairs in the hall and settled in to wait with only the bland light green walls for company. He was growing familiar with that scene, being there for his friends' life taking the shape he wanted for himself, being left behind.

He couldn't help but feel the sting of jealousy sometimes when he looked around to see everyone finding their missing piece. Watching Ginny move on from their short-lived fling with Luna and in a couple of months announce they had recognized each other as soulmates had left him in a dark place. He’d struggled to find purpose after the war. When the years started adding up and he seemed to be the only one unable to find the person to complete him, alone in a refurbished Grimmauld Place, he was forced to wonder whether something was irreparably broken inside of him, whether after fighting a war and sacrificing everything he had, including his own life, had been only to die young eaten by his own magic.

That was the moment he decided he needed therapy, at least to make him able to smile and mean it when Neville told him Hannah might be it for him and then toast at his wedding, wishing him happiness.

"How are things looking?"

Harry glanced up from the tiled floor when he heard Ron's voice and straightened from where he’d slumped in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position in the chair.

"Ginny just went in a few minutes ago. She's probably making a big stink about me not being allowed to be present for the birth." He accepted the paper cup of tea Ron offered him with a grateful smile.

"Excited about meeting the baby?" Ron sat down next to him, staring at the doors to the delivery room.

"A bit," Harry admitted.

"I remember I was a mess with Rosie, Hermione had to keep it together for both of us." He chuckled

"I know, I was there when they kicked you out." Harry shoved Ron's shoulder with a shake of his head.

"That you were. I can't believe I'm going to be an uncle."

"You already are, mate, remember your brother Bill, the one with two kids?"

"Yeah, but Ginny's my favourite, it's different."

"Don't let Charlie hear you say that." Harry took a sip of his tea, trying to stop jittering.

"And it's also kind of your kid too, which makes me twice the uncle," Ron decreed.

"I don't think that's how it works. Did they tell you how they're going to call them?"

Ron shook his head. "I tried to bribe Ginny with salted caramels but she was super tight-lipped, I suspect Luna's going to be the one to pick the name."

As the afternoon turned into night, one by one most Weasleys showed up, filling the corridor and spilling into the waiting room. Hermione checked in regularly to see if there were updates. By the time the clock struck three, Harry was the only one who still hadn't left or transfigured the chairs into something more comfortable to sleep in. Harry was wide awake, only in part due to the ill-advised coffee at midnight, and caught the shift of the door opening to let Ginny out into the hall.

She was wearing scrubs over her Harpies shirt and the green bundle in her arms stood in stark contrast with her red hair. The halogen light cast sharp shadows on her face, making her freckles stand out against her fair skin. She still looked angelic with her hair scattered everywhere and a glow of happiness on her face Harry had never seen when they were together.

"Hey..." She whispered, walking up to him.

Harry stood, his eyes flicking between her face and the bundle in her arms, slack-jawed and unsure what to do.

"Come meet James Rolf Weasley."

"James?" His heart twisted at the thought that they would call the baby like his father.

"Rolf," Ginny added with a bright smile. "Look at him, he's perfect." She angled her arm and pulled the blanket back a little to uncover his chubby brown face. "Ten little fingers, ten little toes and he's got your nose."

Harry felt words catch in his throat as he looked at the baby and awe filled him at the thought of having contributed to make that. He forgot how to breathe when baby James opened his big watery eyes and Harry saw how green they were, warm against the tawny amber of his complexion. Harry hesitantly reached out to touch him but he turned to look up at Ginny, without even noticing Harry.

He watched Ginny get completely absorbed into the eyes of her baby, he knew nothing could intrude and he doubted she heard him when he told her he'd come by the following afternoon to visit Luna.

"Sure, Harry."

* * *

Harry doubted Ginny even noticed when he left her gear next to a sleeping Ron and headed out. Finding a place to drink at three am in central London wasn't hard, he didn't even bother to glamour himself as he stepped outside in the chill of February, glad that at least it wasn’t raining. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself and flipped the collar up to protect him from the cold wind as he walked down the street. He wanted someone to make him forget how devastatingly alone he felt, surrounded by happy families and fulfilled fucking soulbonds. If his scar was going to attract someone who would turn hero-worship into sex he was going to exploit it for once in his life.

He didn't even have to pay for his drink, he might be getting on the older side of the dating pool, turning twenty-six soon, but he knew perfectly well how good he looked when he tried, and he wasn't going to turn down any free drinks tonight. He spotted him about three fire whiskeys in, tall, strawberry blond, broad shoulders and an attitude, monopolizing the attention across the smoky pub. Approaching him wasn't hard, not while Harry was wearing his own face and putting out a slightly murderous vibe, and after one more drink, when he felt suitably numbed and he stopped caring how risky complex magic while inebriated was, he apparated both of them to Grimmauld Place.

They stumbled into his bedroom, fumbling to get their clothes off in the dark and, after vanishing his own pants in frustration, Harry found himself bent over the side of the side of the bed with conjured lube trickling down his crack. The tension seeped out of his shoulders when a strong hand pushed on his back, making him arch into the man behind him. It took a couple of tries for him to finally angle his dick right and pop in. Harry would have laughed at the irony of him not being able to even align his ass to a dick, but he didn't want to think, he needed to just feel something, anything other than the emptiness in his chest.

He grabbed a handful of sheets and gasped when the guy thrust forward, he didn't even catch his name.

"Fuck, harder," he groaned, arching back into it. He reached back to grab his hip, encouraging him to get into it.

It was filthy and quick, and supremely unsatisfying as the guy's spent cock slipped out of Harry's arse, his cum oozing out in a slow trickle down Harry's balls, chilling against the night breeze coming in from the window. Harry blindly reached for his wand to cast a cursory cleaning charm on himself. As it vanished the sweat, lube, and cum he found himself wishing it could go further than skin deep and scrub Harry clean of the grime he felt clinging to his soul, weighing down his bones.

"Are you really him?"

Harry righted himself and turned to look at his companion with a questioning head tilt, leaning back against the bed. "Am I who?"

"Harry Potter," he replied as if it should have been obvious, which, in all honesty, kind of was.

"Yeah."

"Aren't you supposed to have a Hungarian Horntail tattooed on your chest?" he asked, doing up his trousers, barely sparing Harry a second glance.

"You shouldn't believe everything you read on the tabloids." Harry pushed off the bed and went to collect his glasses from where they’d fallen off and gotten caught in the bed covering. Thankfully they hadn’t tumbled to the floor.

"Yeah, they said you were the hottest piece of ass in the United Kingdom. I've had better."

"Great. I trust you remember the way out." He folded the glasses and placed them on the nightstand.

Harry listened to his steps down the stairs and the click of the door closing. It took a moment for the wards to settle around him and he sighed, flopping backwards on the bed, right on the wet spot. He groaned and cast another cleaning charm before climbing under the covers.

As he stared at the ceiling, still unable to sleep he wondered what the hell was wrong with him. Why couldn't he find his missing piece? He knew of people that didn't align with their soulmate until after completing the transition process, like Luna, but he was fairly sure he was at peace with his gender identity, and it wasn't a steadfast rule even among trans people. He was just unlovable, there was nothing besides the glorified image of the war hero, and nobody could truly love a construction like that, nobody made the effort to look behind it to see Harry with enough clarity to love him.

At six he gave up and downed half a dose of dreamless sleep to knock him out until eight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings Harry feels left behind by his friends/family finding their soulmates and building families of their own. To make himself feel better he gets drunk and has a horrible hook up.
> 
> Remember that comments feed authors.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boys turn twenty-eight and deal with it in distinctly different ways. A fairly harmless chapter this one.

Draco wasn’t sure where the time had gone but suddenly he was standing in the gardens of Parkinson house, a little ways away from the big stone gazebo Astoria had installed when they moved in, smiling as Scorpius gleefully ripped open his new miniature broom, filling the floor of the gazebo with colourful scraps of paper. Astoria had insisted they waited until he turned five before giving him one, but Draco wasn't going to wait a day more. The gardens of Parkinson House were filled with preschool children from Scorpius' kindergarten, every single one of them filled to the brim with sugar quills, chocolate frogs and handfuls of every flavour beans. It didn’t take long for the parents to look past the imposing architecture and internal courtyards of Parkinson House to see the spread prepared under the comfortable shade of the huge gazebo, providing a quiet space to socialize while the kids ran around on the grass, occasionally dipping their hands in the pool to splash each other. It was a nice enough April afternoon to not be worried about them getting wet. A gentle breeze cut through the warmth of the sun and made Astoria’s leaf green sundress sway as she walked towards him.

"He's already so big," Astoria sighed as she joined Draco under the shade of the big magnolia, away from the gossiping parents and the temptation of crystal bowls filled with lemon drops. She wordlessly handed Draco a flute of Francis Farole colour-changing lemonade and Draco had to appreciate the odd combination of elegant refinement and the taste of kindergarteners. The ancient pretentious champagne fountain filled with soda was the masterful touch that sold it all. 

"It feels like yesterday he could fit in the palm of my hand, and look at him now, already making questionable friends." He nodded towards the first step up the gazebo where Scorpius was trying to test his new broom with Hugo Weasley of all people.

"Hush, Draco, Hugo is a great kid," Astoria chastised him. Her chuckle made the reprimand less than effective and Draco allowed himself a private little smile behind the glass.

"If he had to pick a Weasley he could at least have gone for the elder one, she gets her brain from her mother."

"Can you imagine once they go to Hogwarts?" She mentioned, adjusting the bit of ruffle falling casually around her arm.

Draco hummed softly. Imagine was all he got to do. He was already aching at the thought that he would never know the specifics of Scorpius' wand and wouldn't get to buy him his first actual owl.

"He's going to be great," he murmured. He took a swig of lemonade and wished it was something stronger and distinctly inappropriate for a five-year-old’s birthday party. "You and Pansy will make sure of it."

"Oh, Draco," Astoria sighed and reached out to rest a hand on his arm as his face darkened. He could feel the warmth of her skin even through the linen of his shirt, her fingers skating over the faded dark mark she’d always stubbornly refused to be intimidated by.

"I'm fine," he lied, but couldn't bring himself to reject what little comfort she still had to offer him.

"Daddy, look!" The excited scream pulled Draco's attention back to the sunny lawn where Scorpius was currently hovering five inches off the soft grass, holding onto the broomstick for dear life.

It was the sloppiest grip Draco had ever seen and Scorpius looked seconds away from rolling upside down, but he had this big excited grin on his face that Draco couldn't resist. He crouched down and beckoned him closer.

"Well done, mon bonheur, now lean forward slowly and come here," he encouraged him. He did his best not to laugh at the look of intense concentration on Scorpius' face as he very carefully shifted his weight. The broom propelled forward a few feet before he slid too close to the tip and upset the balance of the broom. It dipped down, making him plop face-first into the grass with a yelp, the broom spiralling off a few feet away. Draco held his breath for a moment until Scorpius rolled over giggling and Hugo ran up to him to help him up.

"We'll work on it," Draco smiled, retrieving the toy and handing it over, "You're already pretty good," he assured.

"Thank you, Daddy, I love it!" Scorpius smiled up at him, completely unperturbed by the grass stains over his presumably brand-new grey shirt, or the bit of mud on his cheek, and took the broom back. "I'm going to become great and make the Quidditch team just like you."

"I'm sure you will," Draco replied, pride filling his chest. He glossed over the fact that his own father had bought his way onto the team. Scorpius wasn't paying attention to him anymore anyway, already running off with Hugo, offering him a turn on the broom. Pansy joined him under the magnolia, she brushed a hand down Astoria’s back as she headed to the gazebo to take over hostess duties.

"Draco, you're turning twenty-eight this summer," Pansy told him softly, refilling his glass with something that definitely wasn't lemonade. She offered him a piece of ice cream cake as if that could in any way sweeten the bitterness of the truth.

"I'm aware. Have you been talking to my mother? Are you going to offer me some young virgin in marriage as well?" Draco replied.

"You're an asshole," Pansy huffed, shoving his shoulder. "But no, I know better than to try and convince you to do something you don’t want to.”

“Good,” Draco hummed, letting the glass float next to him so he could try the cake. 

“We'll have to tell him sooner or later," she told him softly.

"I know," Draco sighed, watching Scorpius hold Hugo up as he took a spin on the broom. Once they explained things to Scorpius it would become real, his own son would be burdened with it, would look at him differently. "Just... not yet."

* * *

The spot of carpet between the couch and the coffee table in Ron’s living room had probably taken the shape of Harry’s behind with the time he spent sitting there while Rose played with his hair, his face and now, his nails. Harry held his hands out, fingers separated as he rested them on the coffee table so Rose could paint them purple. She’d decreed he needed to look extra fancy for his birthday, hence the beauty treatment.

"How's Uncle Harry looking, darling?" Ron asked from the kitchen where he was busy trying to keep Hugo from taking a spill into the pot of soup. He was still short enough to stand on the counter but definitely tall enough to put his nose, hands, sometimes feet, knees, and elbows where they didn't belong. Harry was starting to understand Ron’s insistence on having a breakfast counter, it allowed him to be in the kitchen and still survey the entire living area… And it was convenient for breakfast purposes.

"Very pretty, dad," Rose replied after taking a critical look at his face and reaching out to flatten a bit of his beard. Harry wasn’t about to question her process but the amount of glitter that appeared on her palm when she took it back wasn’t encouraging.

"I still haven't been allowed a mirror, so we'll have to take her word for it," Harry added, trying to infuse it with all the confidence he had in his favourite goddaughter.

"She's getting good, have you seen my nails?" Ron asked, poking his head out the bar window, wiggling a set of sparkly lime-coloured nails at Harry. Suddenly, matte purple didn't seem so outrageous.

"Everyone will love you at your birthday party," Rose assured, dipping the brush in the bottle and splotching a dollop of polish on Harry's thumb, dripping down on the glass of the tabletop.

"I'm sure they will." Harry decided not to distract her further and sat still, content to watch her scrunch her nose in concentration. She looked so much like Hermione in that moment, that same curl escaping her messy bun in the middle of her forehead, that same scrunched nose, and the tip of her tongue between her teeth as she got to his pinky finger. The smattering of freckles, though, showing up now in the middle of summer when the sun kissed her tawny complexion, were all Ron.

Would he ever get to make something so good?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind he felt guilty. He already did make something just as good. James wouldn't have been there without him, even giving Luna and Ginny the space to be his parents without Harry butting in, his dark hair and brown skin were all Potter. And the girls had gone ahead and used his other sample for another pregnancy. It would still be Ginny's eggs but she would also be the one to carry. He had no right to feel sorry for himself. He had made an impact on the world, if he died tomorrow, he knew he'd done good and would leave people who loved him. And he still had two years, maybe a little bit more if he was lucky.

"All done, Uncle Harry!" Rose announced, twisting the nail polish bottle shut. "Dad can you dry them, please?"

"Just a moment!"

Ron came in with a giggling Hugo thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and quickly cast a drying charm on Harry's nails.

"Good job, Rosie," Ron commented before going back to the kitchen to finish making dinner while Harry examined her handywork.

"I don't think I have anything to wear with this colour," Harry commented. "I will have to go shopping."

"Can I come too? I'll help you pick!" Rose chimed in.

"That's a wonderful idea, but maybe we should ask your mum and dad."

"Ok," she agreed quickly. "Will you braid my hair?" She didn't have any problem dropping the topic until later, when she could leverage her parents to get her way. Harry had watched her play her cards with Ron and Hermione masterfully to get whatever she wanted more than once through the years, and he'd be damned if she wasn't going to get sorted into Slytherin when her time came.

"Anything you want, how shall I style it tonight?" Harry asked, levitating the coffee table out of the way so she could sit on the floor in front of him.

"Two Dutch braids please." She crawled on the carpet and settled down in front of him, her back straight. She quickly pulled her bun down and handed him a comb so he could part her hair.

Harry had taken his godfatherly duties very seriously and his hair braiding skills, while still not on par with Ron's, were more than adequate.

By the time Hermione came home Rose had switched places with Harry, kneeling on the couch so she could reach his head, and Harry had an undefined number of flower clips in his hair. Rose had given up on trying to braid it pretty quickly, but hair clips and decorative bobby pins were fair game.

"You look very elegant, Harry," she commented with an amused smile.

"Do you like him, mummy? I did his nails too!"

Harry dutifully raised his hands so Hermione could see.

"Very nice, Rosie, but it's time for dinner. Let's go wash our hands."

Once they were all sitting at the sturdy kitchen table, with Ron's delicious food in front of them and the warm light of the afternoon bathing the room in a way that made it feel like a perfect memory than a real moment, Harry knew he had to break the news now or he never would.

"I've joined a matchmaking service." He didn't beat around the bush.

"Harry, you know those are pointless, it's-" Hermione started.

"It's not that I don't trust your abilities, Hermione," he promised. "but I have to try, you know? I'm turning twenty-eight."

In front of that irrefutable fact, Hermione backed down. They were all aware of what it meant, but it was Harry that felt the days tick by, each of them a step closer to death. It was like walking into the Forbidden Forest again, only this time it wasn't some grand sacrifice, it was just pointless, an empty void growing bigger and bigger behind his breastbone with each sunrise and sunset until there would be no more.

The silence stretched around the room, as if the speaking of the number had sucked all energy from the world. Only the dust motes dared move, bobbing lazily in the rays of light coming in from the window.

It was Ron who broke it eventually, dispelling the oppressive sense of foreboding that filled Harry when he thought about his age. "Which one?"

"A Thread Around the World," Harry replied. "I figured widening the net outside the UK would give me a better chance, and if nothing else I will have travelled a bit."

Ron nodded and dipped a bit of bread in his soup.

"Do you already have a departure date?" Hermione asked.

"In September. I will take the recruits on a training retreat after my birthday and then take a sabbatical. I have already arranged it with the department."

"You're going to miss the birth of your— Ginny's kid," Ron realized.

"Yeah," Harry stirred his soup slowly, the clench at his stomach prevented him from enjoying it, not even the warmth of it in his belly was any comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to comment if you're having a good time. Or if you're having a bad time and like it that way, we don't judge.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry goes on a cruise around the world and straight up does not have a good time.  
> This is the chapter the minor character death applies to.  
> detailed warnings in the end notes.

September the fourth found Harry at the port of Dover with his trunk packed and shrunk in his pocket, reconsidering every choice that led him to that moment. The briny air filled his lungs as he stood in front of the massive cruise ship. He took his time to look at it while he waited to embark. It was bigger than any ship had a right to be, decorated with a golden swirly line across the side and the logo of the matchmaking service everywhere, a neatly tied flat knot surrounded by the unbroken circle of magic, simple, elegant, inspiring dread and a vague sense of despair that Harry quickly squashed. He took a deep breath, smiling at the morning sun rising over the ocean and picked up the cage of his new owl before heading to check-in and board.

This was it. His last-ditch effort to find that single moment of human connection that would allow him to live past the point where his death would be described as tragically premature. He'd died young once already, it was surely enough.

"Potter, Harry," he told the man in uniform, handing him his ticket. He saw his eyes widen as he checked the name on the ticket and then the scar on Harry's forehead. He’d hoped this kind of reaction would gradually fade while he endeavoured to lead the most boring and ordinary life possible in the years after the war, but the allure of his single status, as well as all the rest, seemed to maintain an air of mystique around him that he couldn’t quite shake.

"Welcome aboard, Mr Potter, Wendy will help you find your cabin. We hope you tie your thread around the world."

Harry nodded, mustering up a forced smile. "Yes, thank you very much."

A bubbly young woman in the same white shirt, black trousers and golden belt, accompanied him to his cabin and Harry had to admit that maybe he could have a good time after all. It looked comfortable and elegant without trying too hard. The light wood of the furniture and natural light streaming in from the windows provided a welcoming environment. The bed was more than big enough for two but the abundance of decorative pillows on it made Harry doubt he was going to feel like he was drowning in the emptiness of a too-big bed. There was a table right next to the window, the complimentary stationery reminded him to keep in contact with Ron, he would be so mad if he didn’t write. There was even a perch in a corner to let owls stretch their wings. As he explored the cabin Harry felt some of his apprehension melt away, a tentative seed of hope struggling to germinate in his chest.

He pulled his trunk out and resized it with a flick of his wand. The whole boarding process was going to take a while, but he was in no hurry to depart. After all, it was about the process, not the destination. He picked up the activity schedule from the desk and flopped down sideways on the bed to study it.

There was something for every taste, theatres, spas, gyms, the lido deck looked particularly fun. Despite everything he found himself looking forward to the welcome event later that day. The colourful pictures on the brochure of smiling people and the gorgeous locations they were going to visit pushed Harry to let that little seed of hope burrow in his chest. There were several soulmate specific events, speed dating, team building style game nights and such, but none of it sounded as artificial and forced like some other services he'd gone through. He hoped this one would be worth the money and precious time he was investing in it.

* * *

_ Dear Ginny, _

_ Hermione wrote that you've been having troubles with the pregnancy so I wanted to write before we get out of owl range again. You know Ron is my proxy for everything back in the UK, anything you need from me you can ask him. I'm sorry I'm not there for you, but I'll be back soon. _

_ Greece is gorgeous, we went flying over the Aegean Sea one night, you would have loved it. Luna would probably never want to leave the ruins, the natural magic is so strong here and so close to the surface you can almost get drunk on it. _

_ Some days I wish I had Hermione's Time-Turner so I could join all the activities. _

Harry stared at the half-finished letter, his hand hovering over it. Why was he lying to her? If he had a Time-Turner he would go so far back, he would try and fix everything that went wrong, before he died, before Cedric died, before his parents were killed. He gripped the quill with a shaking hand, and squeezed to try and steady it until it snapped in half, splotching the parchment with ink.

He sighed and fixed it with a flick of his wand. He seriously considered just abandoning the cruise at the next port and going back to England to be there for Ginny and Luna. Every moment of entertainment, bonding and wonder was marred by the shared and never voiced knowledge that every last person on the ship was literally dying for a single moment of genuine connection that would probably not come. Under clear sunny skies with cheerful music all around it was easy enough to ignore but when night came... Not even the colourful lights of the upper deck, the concerts and shows could alleviate the feeling of being alone in an empty ocean, the slithering knowledge that this was a life or death endeavour, the niggling awareness that no amount of performative happiness could save their lives. They were all wearing transparent masks and pretended not to see the faces behind them. And yet Harry couldn't get off. No matter how many bad dates he went on, how many times he had to shower after spending an afternoon being fawned over by some awestruck passenger who hoped they might be the one for the great Harry Potter. He owed it to himself to see it through to the end. He couldn't leave any avenue unexplored. He couldn’t give up after just a couple of months and less than half the destinations visited.

He finished the letter with some vague wishes of health, promises to come see her as soon as he got back to England and to buy something for the baby at the next destination. He turned to Elliot where he was sleeping on his perch and gently scratched his head.

"It's going to be a long one, boy," he told the owl as he tied the letter to his leg. He had to admit the postage system was odd but rather functional on the ship. Wherever they sent their owl, they could be sent back to the closest agency for A Thread Around the World and they would take care of delivering them back to the next port. So far Elliot had always come back unharmed, and probably pampered more than Harry had time to do himself.

* * *

It happened when they lowered anchor at the Amalfi coast, what all of them were waiting for. A couple aligned and recognized each other. The event prompted a full day of celebration on the ship that spilled over to pull the entire town of Positano in the festivities.

There was a weight at the pit of Harry's stomach that made him restless as he watched Veronica dance with Alexei. He was the dullest person Harry had met so far, but he got to find his match in the most romantic place on earth, he got his great story, he got his moment while the winter sun shone over the Mediterranean.

Harry's eyes met Tommaso's from across the room and he immediately knew he was going to make some bad choices that night. He'd met the man earlier that day when they got introduced to the Italian clients of the agency and got hooked. Tommaso was a ballet dancer from La Scala, travelling all the way south from Milan just for his chance. He was just twenty-four, he had the most unfairly perfect body, of which he was well aware, the glint in his brown eyes exuded the kind of easy confidence that Harry only wished he could broadcast.

It didn't take much more than a nod to get him to follow down to Harry's cabin. He was  _ flexible.  _ In ways Harry hadn't thought possible, and he was enthusiastic, Harry could get lost in the sharp lines of his body, the miles of tan skin under his hands, and happily never try to find himself again. He didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave as they lay sprawled out on the bed cooling down under the weather control charms. Tommaso gently ran his fingers through Harry's curls, twisting them gently back and away from his forehead.

"I hope you find your person, Harry," he murmured, as he trailed a gentle finger down Harry's cheek.

Harry felt something break inside of him when he looked up into warm brown eyes and found devastating honesty. For the first time there was no performance to the person in front of him and Harry just started crying uncontrollably. Tommaso just wrapped his arms around him and let Harry shake with sobs for however long he needed. Harry ended up crying himself to sleep, too raw to hide behind threadbare hope in the improbable. When he woke up, Tommaso was still there.

"I have to go before you raise anchor," he said, pushing himself up out of bed. "But I mean it, I really do hope you find them."

Harry wrapped the sheet around himself and stood, watching Tommaso pick up his clothes from the floor and get dressed. He pulled Harry in and pressed the softest kiss on his forehead.

"You deserve happiness, I'll keep an eye out for your bonding announcement in the papers."

Harry could only nod, unable to put the tangled mess of feelings into words, and before he could even try Tommaso had slipped out of his cabin to go back to shore, taking away the single moment of genuine connection Harry had made since he walked up the gangway back at the start of September.

* * *

A letter from Ron reached him when they touched the coast of Nassau in late March.

Ginny had given birth while he was traversing the Atlantic, more than a month and a half ahead of schedule. Arthur Sirius was nevertheless a healthy child, but both him and Ginny were going to be in the hospital under observation for a week at least due to a difficult delivery. Which Harry had missed.

Harry checked the date of the letter. They were probably home already. He'd known when he embarked that he was going to miss the birth, but the fact that it had come early somehow made it a surprise. A painful surprise. In six months, he hadn't found a moment to prepare for the moment when Ron or whoever for him would write him to tell him he had another child.

_ There's a picture with the letter. We thought you'd like to have it. We miss you and the kids can't wait for you to come home. _

Harry checked the envelope again and, sure enough there was a picture of Ginny in a hospital gown. Luna was sitting on the bed next to her and she was fixing a tiny hat on their new baby while James stood on his knees next to Ginny, trying to get a good look at his new brother. Arthur Sirius still had Harry's dark hair and warm brown skin but somehow managed to inherit the Weasley blue eyes. Harry watched the picture loop several times, Ginny looked up at the camera and smiled that tired smile that glowed with the satisfaction of a job well done. Arthur was perfect, his chubby little hand waving around as Ginny turned him to face the camera as well.

Harry slipped the picture back into the envelope and dropped it on the table. He crossed his arms and rested his forehead on them, breathing slowly against the crushing weight settling in his chest at the thought of his family growing while he was away. What was he doing? He had less than a year left, he should be in Britain, helping James take his first steps, smuggling a toy broom in Hugo's birthday presents... He should be making the most of the precious little time he had left.

_ You could still get more. _

That persistent thought kept him rooted in place. If he had a chance to find his own great love and grow old, he wasn't going to miss it. He owed it to his parents, he owed it to Remus and Sirius, he owed it to himself to be the living proof that Voldemort's mark on the world could be erased and love could bloom in its place.

He raised his head to look out the window at the sunset over the ocean. He was lying to himself. None of that mattered. He was just jealous of everyone else getting the love they wanted. He felt left behind. A symbol of something he himself couldn’t have. An idle thought crossed his mind about a boa constrictor in a zoo, never having seen Brazil. He wondered for a moment whether he ever made it there after being inadvertently unleashed on a crowd of unsuspecting muggles by Harry’s magic. He liked to think he did, as unlikely as the possibility was.

He glanced at the neat embossed paper sitting next to his elbow with the day’s activities. There was a pirate-themed treasure hunt on the island planned for after dinner. It would have to work to distract him. He pushed himself up and rummaged into his wardrobe until he found a white linen shirt. He roughly transfigured the sleeves to be more poufy and the collar to be more open, showing a bit of chest, then deemed it pirate-y enough. He paired it with a pair of dark trousers and transfigured his boots to reach up higher on his calf. He didn't dare reach the knee.

It was a subpar job but, given the time, amount of planning, and his tailoring spells skills, the image staring at him from the mirror was passable, the unshaven jaw was probably what sold it.

The staff helpfully provided everyone with bandanas, hats, belts and what looked suspiciously like muggle prop swords. Then they split the participants into smaller teams, to foster more meaningful connections between the members, and probably a healthy amount of competition, just to keep things interesting. Everyone on Harry's team seemed to have put a lot more effort into their costumes and looked hyped enough about the hunt that a little bit of excitement rubbed off on Harry. They even introduced themselves as the famous pirates they were going as, so Harry found himself Joined by Anne Bonny, a man very ironically dressed as Mary Reed, Jack Calico Rackham, James Flint and Long John Silver, with a prosthetic leg looking like a roughly whittled peg leg that made Harry question whether he’d had the prosthetic custom made for this exact purpose and then how often this man got dressed up as a pirate to invest in a peg leg at all.

They made their way through Clifton Heritage national park, going from challenge to challenge, hiking through forest paths further and further away from the beach. The magical ones were barely a match for Harry’s skills but some were delightfully muggle and those ended up being the ones to put the team to the test in their knowledge of local flora, fauna and history as well as basic problem-solving. While the red sunset faded into night Harry found himself learning about the long history of piracy in the Bahamas against colonial England and Spain, both through the theme of the challenges and from his teammates. As they ran from a triggered trap holding tight to their next clue Harry found himself laughing in delight. It was the low stake Triwizard Tournament he wished he'd had. They ended up being the first ones to the treasure chest, all grinning and out of breath after running around like children. At the sight of it sitting in plain view on a pedestal, in the middle of a clearing illuminated by the cold light of the moon behind them, Harry's stomach roiled and a sheen of cold sweat covered him. He sent several discreet diagnostic charms in its direction before letting anyone open it but all of them came out negative for any kind of malicious enchantment, easing the cold squeeze around Harry’s lungs.

As soon as the guy going as Mary Read touched it, sparks started going off, alerting the rest of the players that the treasure had been found.

"We've got rings!" the woman going as Anne Bonny announced, peering at the contents over Silver's shoulders.

"And cruise goodies!" Flint added, picking tokens for free treatments at the spa and tickets for upcoming shows out of the chest.

Harry let them have the first pick on their share of the treasure and was left with the last of the six ornate rings. It was a strikingly realistic looking serpent twisting around itself and coiling around a green stone. It wasn't exactly Harry's style, but he could appreciate the craftsmanship it took to make it. He turned it in his hand and watched how the moonlight bounced off every individual scale on the body. It was going to be a nice memento.

He walked back to the beach with Flint, Silver and Calico Jack. Anne Bonny and Mary Read had disappeared into the forest after snatching up the couple's package for the spa.

"Anne and I are actually married," Jack said after Harry pointed out their very conspicuous absence.

"Without being each other's soulmates?" Harry asked, surprised.

Jack nodded. "We were in love and wanted to go on that adventure together, we don't really believe in the whole The One shtick. If and when we find the people to balance out our magic, we'll welcome them in our relationship but we saw no point in not enjoying what we had."

There was no flaw in his reasoning and he seemed genuinely happy; like he didn't feel the constant ticking of time closer to his eventual death day, like he wasn't running against time to survive. He looked like he was living his years out to the fullest. Even on the cruise he was on...

"What about you, young Jim Hawkins?" Flint asked.

"I'm older than all of you," Harry reminded him with a small smile at the moniker.

"Barely," Silver shoved his shoulder.

"I'm not married, if that's what you're asking, but I do have a son— two actually, an old friend of mine and her wife needed a donor and..."

The hunt ended with a party on the beach in the honour of the winners that went on until the first light of dawn.

It didn't take more than a couple of weeks before they celebrated the bonding of Hannah Clark and Mark Bell, their very own Anne Bonny and Mary Read.

* * *

Despite his constant sour mood, Harry found himself enjoying the company of his little pirate crew, he let their enthusiasm carry him out to a swim with sharks and a local food tasting. It made the next leg of the trip across the Panama Canal and up the west coast a lot lighter. As they docked in Hawaii Harry was starting to actually enjoy the process finally, after so many misses. Having the guys with him helped to make him feel less alienated, and by the time they reached Australia passing through New Zealand, he was the one dragging them to the most bizarre activities, at least until Flint and Silver found their match in each other. To add insult to injury, Jack aligned with William Bonn, a member of the staff, and decided to go for a double ceremony.

The bonding of James Foley with Thomas Hamill and Jack Rankin with William Bonn was an elegant affair on the white shores of Bali that brought joy and hope to all the passengers of the cruise, looking forward to the last part of their journey back home through the stunning destinations in Kuala Lumpur and the luxury of the Arab Emirates. Harry found himself once again the last one left behind, and the weight he'd shed in those few months across the Pacific Ocean seemed to return to him as they crossed the Suez Canal back into the Mediterranean. They docked in Genoa for one night and Harry found Tommaso in the small group of people from the local agency. He still had Hermione's letter in his pocket when he pulled off his trousers, pushing Tommaso back on his bed.

_ Cho is dying. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's sense of loneliness and isolation gets exponentially worse throught the journey, he disconnects from his family back in England and breaks down in the arms of strangers. There is a vague mention of unwanted avances, blink and you miss it.  
> Cho dies.
> 
> If you pick up on all the nerdy pirate references I owe you my heart and whatever you ask for in the comments (whithin reason) but it's got to be all of them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a funeral and discussion of death with children in this one, so be warned.

Harry made it back to England in early May, stepping back into the familiarity of the humid still heat of London but it was already too late. Cho had died the day before he docked in the port of Dover. It seemed fitting somehow, that he should come back to England to attend a funeral, after wasting a year in a foolish chase after a love that wouldn’t come.

He stood, dressed in black robes under the sun, along with most of their old classmates as Cho's father read the eulogy. They all knew. Cedric had been it for her, they'd just been too young, their relationship too new for their bond to settle properly before... Before Harry failed to protect Cedric, and killed Cho in turn, slowly, painfully, with no purpose, just like Cedric. Another spare. She'd barely lasted two weeks after her birthday. Harry was going to turn twenty-nine in three months and he wasn't closer to finding his soulmate than he'd been twelve months before. Another twelve and they would all reconvene. The only question was whether they would do so for him first or for Malfoy. 

* * *

Draco kissed Scorpius' cheek and fixed the cuffs of his shirt.

"You be good to granny while I'm away, ma vie," he recommended. "Mummy will pick you up in a few hours."

Scorpius nodded and hurried off with a quick  _ Hi, Granny  _ as he passed Narcissa.

"Another funeral, my dear?" she asked, smoothing down the dark robes on Draco's chest. Draco nodded, covering her hands.

"Bonding ceremonies are starting to feel strikingly similar to those anyway," he replied. He regretted it immediately when he saw his mother flinch as if he'd hit her.

"Draco..."

"I have an appointment with Granger's colleague soon," he told her softly, as if that could reassure her.

"Why won't you let me?"

"I could scarcely allow the one actually meant for me to be tied to my name to save their life, I'm not letting some hapless fool do it to save mine."

Narcissa's hands clenched, wrinkling Draco's robes and he could feel them trembling as if she was holding back from hitting him. They eventually very deliberately relaxed and she slid them out from under his. She nodded slowly and cupped his cheek for a moment, looking at him as if it was the last time she got to see him. Then she gave a short nod and walked inside after Scorpius, dismissing him so he could go attend Chang’s funeral.

He could feel the eyes on his back as he stood under the stifling sun, he could almost hear the thoughts going through the crowd. Who would be next? Him or Potter, standing right at the front, flanked by Granger and Weasley as always. There sure was an option that would make them happier and Draco was nothing if not a people pleaser, soon enough they would get what they wanted.

* * *

Draco knew something was up the second Scorpius put his pencils down and clasped his hands over the half-finished drawing of a dragonfly. It was his important questions pose, when he sat up straight like he was being interviewed for a Ministry job. Those tended to put Draco in awfully awkward positions.

"Daddy?"

Draco put down the notes on his latest job and gave Scorpius his full attention. "What is it, ma vie?"

"How old are you?"

Draco hesitated for a moment in front of that question. "Why this question?" he asked instead of answering straight away.

"Miss Patil's friend died because she didn't have a soulmate and she was thirty."

Of course, he would have heard about Chang from his teacher, they'd all been there for the funeral. And he was too observant for his own good, even if he didn't know Draco's exact age it didn't take a genius to see all the other adults in his life were paired off except for Dad.

"I just turned twenty-nine, remember when we had dinner at Granny's last week?"

Scorpius nodded slowly and Draco could see cogs turning behind that little frown of concentration.

"Are you going to die too when you turn thirty?"

Draco gave him a small smile, he was still so innocent and so direct, never bothering to mince his words.

"Maybe," Draco replied. Scorpius wasn't stupid, there was no way to lie to him about it.

"But maybe not?"

"Sometimes when two soulmates aren't the same age the older one gets a little more time. Miss Patil's friend had already lost her soulmate, he died very young, so when she turned thirty, she didn't have much time left," he explained.

"But you haven't found yours yet."

"No, I haven't."

"I hope your soulmate is very young, so you can stay with me longer," Scorpius decided, and with that the conversation was finished to his satisfaction and he went back to drawing.

Draco couldn't put it aside quite as easily. He'd been fooling himself thinking he was going to be the only one losing something in this relationship, missing the chance to see his son grow. But, despite what the world thought of him and his name, Scorpius loved him, and he was now aware of Draco's mortality. Not only that, but he was also aware that his father had an expiration date, one that Draco was doing nothing to delay.

* * *

Draco was fuming when he stepped out of the Floo into Blaise's drawing room, already half an hour late for their dinner.

"Aren't you a sip of Felix Felicis," Blaise greeted him from where he was sat on the new Persian carpet with Scorpius learning all about the wonderful creatures he managed to dig up in the garden.

"Daddy!" Scorpius jumped up to hug him and Draco picked him up easily to kiss his cheek.

"Hello, ma vie, did you have fun with Aunt Daphne and Blaise?" he asked. The frustration already melting away as he listened to Scorpius chatter about frogs and worms and roly-polies. He couldn’t help but notice the evident mud tracks on the marble floor and the very same Persian carpet. What was missing was any trace of anger on Blaise’s face. Someone was smitten with a certain adorable child, who was entirely too clueless about his own charms for the son of purebred Slytherins.

Blaise had the good sense to wait until after dinner to bring up the topic, once Scorpius was already in bed and they were all lounging with an after-dinner drink in the recently cleaned drawing room. The windows were open, letting in the late summer breeze and the song of frogs and crickets from the gardens.

"So, what got your panties in a twist?" Blaise asked, pouring Daphne a finger of bourbon and perching himself on the armrest of the high back armchair she’d claimed for herself.

"I found out they've started looking for my replacement at work," Draco replied, sullenly nursing his Firewhiskey, curled up in the twin of Daphne’s chair.

"That's bull, you've always done great work," Pansy interjected.

"Oh, they know, it has nothing to do with my performance. They've become aware of the fact that I turned twenty-nine last month and putting in place a contingency plan, should I suddenly and regrettably die young."

Several seconds of silence followed. Even after years they still weren't used to him casually referencing his estimated date of death.

"At least they're not making me interview my replacement. Small mercies... On the other hand, I feel like I would be the one most qualified to find something half suitable to substitute me." He took a sip and then turned to Pansy. "How are things at the hospital now that you're the big boss?"

Pansy shrugged, "I'm not the big boss."

"Head of the administrative board, close enough." Draco waved off her false modesty.

"It's been good, better than I expected. I had to fight every step of the way but now that I'm actually on top I feel like I have to deal with less bullshit," she replied with a pleased smile.

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that your assistant does it for you," Astoria teased her.

"And who picked her? Seducing her away from that soul-sucking job at the Ministry? And most importantly who trained her to be so cutthroat and efficient? Me," Pansy retorted. "Anyway, we're renewing the labs and I have a team working on muggle and magic medicine development so we can transfer new techniques and give research a boost. I'm also having the gardens redesigned so we can have some green instead of that architectural monster. If I had the funds, I would tear down the whole building and remake it with some sense."

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that your favourite sister in law is a criminally underappreciated architect," Daphne commented.

"Nothing at all." Pansy grinned. “It’s all about how my wife is a highly-skilled landscape designer and I want rooftop gardens.”

* * *

"Uncle Harry, are you going away again?"

Harry hadn't expected to be ambushed by such a question from Rose when they were out on the porch making friendship bracelets for all her school friends. He had his hands literally tied with colourful yarn so he couldn't just flee from the conversation like he desperately wanted.

"I'm not. Why do you ask?"

Rose looked up at him with the same suspicious look Hermione gave him when she smelled hippogriff shit behind his words.

"Your birthday passed and last year you went away after it. Mommy said it was because you were getting older."

It wasn't technically a lie, and it was something Rose could more or less understand.

"I'm not going away this year," he promised her.

"I missed you a lot when you were away," she informed him as she went back to her work. "You didn't write me enough letters."

Harry felt the twist of guilt tighten in his stomach. He'd run away and barely kept in touch. Wasted almost a full year with no regards for the feelings of the people around him.

"I liked the pictures though. I liked Iceland and the Faroe Islands and Greece, I went there with mum and dad too, it was a lot of fun. You went to a lot of beautiful places."

"I did," Harry agreed. He still felt like he didn't enjoy them half as much as he should have.

"Will you take me when I'm a bit older?" she asked, glancing up at him.

"I would love to," Harry replied, and in four words there was so much Rose couldn't understand yet. He didn't even know whether he would be there when she'd be a little older, and most of all he hoped she'd never feel the kind of desperation that pushed him to buy a ticket for that cruise.

Rose launched in a list of all her favourite places and things she wanted to do, inspired by the pictures Harry had brought home. It was one and a half bracelets later that Rose hit him with another one of her cutting questions. After telling him how she wanted to touch a penguin, a real one, she stopped and looked up from the surprisingly intricate pattern she was weaving.

"Are you going to let mummy take care of you?"

"I..."

"She said people go to her when they get close to becoming thirty and we had your birthday here and you're twenty-nine. That's close to becoming thirty," she reasoned.

Harry hesitated. He couldn't explain to her that there wasn't much her mummy could do to help him, and he wasn't going to need any care up to the point where no help was going to be available.

"I will."

"Will you really? I don't want you to get sick."

Harry managed to muster up a smile for her. "Me neither, Rosie."

"I'm going to make a bracelet for you too, so it keeps you company when you're in the hospital."

Harry could only nod while she picked green, blue and white yarn and got started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you team Drarry in deep denial or team no bullshit with Scorpius & Rose?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here starts the medical procedural part of the equation. 
> 
> WARNING / DISCLAIMER   
> I'm fully aware Hermione is going to get up to some questionable practices in the next chapters when it comes to confidentiality and she's basically in constant conflict of interest from here to the end, but it's all in good fun, don't @ me. (It's funny because I'm anon, so you can't @ me until the end of the fest)  
> more death preparation happens in this chapter.  
> more warnings in the end notes

Hermione closed the folder and rested her hand over the name on the cover  _ Chang, Cho.  _ It’d been sitting on her desk for months now, she hadn’t had the strength to file it away among the several others she'd lost through the years. She’d pushed it off, waiting for… she didn’t even know what, some kind of sign it wasn’t all for nothing. She'd been afraid she would lose funding when the change in leadership happened at the hospital, but Parkinson managed to surprise her once more, and stayed out of her way.

Funding started coming in even from international entities, despite the less-than-stellar results of the trials she managed to run. More and more people came asking her for help and some days she felt like she was running a hospice, when she didn’t feel like a scam altogether. The number of files she had to label  _ Deceased  _ was discouraging, but the few sitting in the  _ Success(?)  _ side of the cabinet were even more frustrating because she didn't know whether they just got a little more time or she was actually onto something. She had no way to control except wait for a hundred years and see if they died randomly of core degeneration.

Aside from her little reign, the hospital started running a lot more smoothly under Parkinson's watchful guide. She kept surprising Hermione at every turn, by upping the amount of charitable work they got involved in. After a year of it, Hermione was forced to reconsider her hangups about the woman, she seemed committed to the wellbeing of the patients and the staff just as much as turning a profit. She was still somewhat taken aback when Draco Malfoy showed up for a visit. He looked remarkably uncomfortable and out of place with his tailored suit and dragonhide boots, folding himself into one of the well-used chairs of her office.

"Pansy says you're the best in your field, which shouldn't be a surprise, but you're also the closest so I'm here," Malfoy replied when she asked him why he came in to see her. "I can see one of your colleagues if you'd rather not see me," he offered casually, as if people refusing service to him was a common occurrence, abhorrent as the thought was in the context of the healing profession.

"No, I'm just surprised," she replied sitting down at her desk. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. So, why now?" she asked, pulling out a notepad from a drawer.

"As you probably know, I've recently turned twenty-nine and I'm quite devoid of a bond settling my core," Malfoy gestured at himself as if he carried it written on his forehead. "I believe it's customary to see a specialist at this stage to ease the degenerative process. I managed to get away with waiting almost three months, but given how the stepmother of my child has access to medical records I can't get away with it forever."

Hermione nodded, jotting down a few notes. "I take it you have no intention of joining trials on autonomous bond settling?"

Malfoy raised an eyebrow in a way that perfectly conveyed his confusion without him having to in any way admit ignorance.

"I've been trying to devise a way to harness the wild magic in a less destructive way to ensure the survival of unbonded wixen," Hermione explained and handed him a leaflet detailing the trial. "You don't have to decide immediately, I have spots open, and I would like for you to join a short grief counselling program. Preparing for one's own death is a common and yet unique experience and you don't have to do it alone. We realise that often bonded members of one's family aren't quite equipped to offer the support you might need so we run group counselling."

As she handed him a flyer, Hermione felt a strange moment of ominous foreboding. She knew she was going to be dragging Harry to that same program, but she couldn't deny her patient the best care just because sparks might fly in group therapy. She hoped Sarah would be able to handle them, maybe it would be best to keep them in separate groups, for the sake of everyone involved.

* * *

Granger's grief counselling flyer sat on Draco's nightstand for almost a month, a memento mori if there ever was one. The first chills of November were what finally motivated him to schedule another appointment and sign up for her program. That and the sight of Scorpius dressed as a Hungarian Horntail for Halloween.

"Look, Daddy, I'm you!" He gave a small twirl, making the tail swish behind him. Astoria had surpassed herself sewing this one. "The Hungarian Horntail defends its nest from everyone, he's the strongest of all dragons," he informed Draco. "Hugo says his Uncle Harry Potter fought one."

"I wouldn't qualify it as fighting," Draco commented, fixing the small mobile wings on Scorpius' back.

"So, it's true?!" Scorpius' eyes went wide as saucepans and Draco couldn't worm his way out of retelling the story of the Triwizard Tournament and the dragon trial. Of all people to have a crush on Potter, his one and only son had to be one...

As annoying as hyping Potter up was, Draco's heart twisted at the thought of not being able to tell stories of their school years until Scorpius started finding them lame. It was with a picture of him in his pocket that Draco went back to St Mungo.

Granger was just as welcoming as the first time and quickly opened a patient file for him before introducing him to the counsellor, Sarah (just Sarah) that in turn guided him to a cosy room where a small group of people was already gathered. Judging by the round furniture and soft colours, as well as padded floors and amount of plushies in the corners, Draco suspected they were somewhere in the paediatrics wing or neonatology, and for some reason that soothed him, being away from the clean and sterile halls of the hospital, somewhere that pretended to not be plagued with grief, somewhere life began more often than ended.

He felt it the moment they recognized him. The hopeful looks when a new person was introduced to the group turned distrustful in a moment, as soon as Sarah (just Sarah) spoke his name. He kept quiet, listening to the others voice their anger, their frustration, their sense of insurmountable injustice at the thought of being denied their chance at life. It was cloying, it filled the room until there was no more air to breathe and all Draco could do was go home and hug Scorpius until he got worried there was something wrong with his father and Draco was forced to let go.

That same week he decided to tell Astoria and Pansy they should start thinking about moving Scorpius in with them permanently. Scorpius had been put to bed but Draco was still lingering with them in the sunroom after dinner. The darkness was growing bolder, claiming the gardens outside Parkinson House earlier and earlier in the day as fall edged into winter, but they still dined in the sunroom because, as Astoria put it, there is beauty even in decay, spring would lose a lot of wonder deprived of fall.

"He's going to ask why, Draco," Pansy pointed out, leaning against the armrest of Astoria’s stuffed chair. So many hard talks had been had in the sunroom at Parkinson House and Draco couldn’t help but think the hardest were still to come as he followed the whorls of the dark wood of the floor, foolishly hoping he could find some sense to it all in the gentle curve of the rings.

"Are you sure?" Astoria reached out to squeeze his arm.

He couldn't resist the temptation to look up at her and after six years apart he still couldn't lie to her face. That 'yes', so ready on the tip of his tongue choked him and he shook his head, swallowing against the pain closing his throat.

"It's for the best," he eventually managed. "We don't know how much time I'll have after I turn thirty."

"We still have time, your birthday isn't for another eight months," Astoria pointed out, as if he hadn’t been negotiating with himself for every extra day he could get.

"I want him to be already settled down before I have to be remitted into Granger's permanent care. I can't... He'll have to deal with enough without the move being added to the plate." He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed when he found it short at the nape of his neck. He still wasn't used to having it short again. He’d cut it on an impulse, deciding he didn’t want to die looking like his father, but now he missed it.

Pansy sat down on the couch next to him. "What are we going to tell him? He's going to ask why."

"He's been asking questions ever since Chang's funeral, he'll understand what's happening," Draco told them. "We'll tell him I'm not well so he's going to spend more time with you." Scorpius hadn't even moved out and Draco already felt empty. He clenched his fist in his lap to stop his hand from shaking.

"We don't have to do it straight away, we can do it after the holidays," Pansy proposed, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"We'll have to—" Draco bit his cheek to keep his voice from breaking at the thought, "we'll have to settle parental rights." They both knew that moment would come, but Pansy looked just as devastated as he felt when he looked up into her dark eyes.

"Oh, Draco..."

"I don't want to leave him, Pansy," he sobbed, crumpling in her arms.

"I know," she whispered, gently rubbing his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is very practical talk of Scorpius' guardianship after Draco's death between Draco, Astoria and Pansy
> 
> Remember to leave a comment before going forward.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry faces reality and seeks help.  
> Things aren't going great for Draco.
> 
> If you've gotten this far I don't think you need warnings for the content of this chapter.

January the third was the day Harry faced reality. He ripped the pages of the joke calendar George had gotten him for Christmas, and suddenly realized he was probably not going to reach the end of it. 

It came out of nowhere and the realization hit him straight in the chest, cutting his breath, and he had to sit down, he stared at the subpar puns on the pages he was still holding without really seeing them. His remaining life expectancy was calculated in months, not years. He could very well have left his last Christmas behind. How many people had he seen for the last time already?

That same day, during lunch break he swung by Hermione's office.

"Is there something you want to ask me?" Hermione prompted once Ron's packed food had disappeared.

He mustn't have been very subtle, fidgeting with the flyer on her desk the whole time. On the other hand, there hadn’t been many lunches when Hermione hadn’t hinted at him trying a new treatment she was experimenting with.

"Do you still have a spot for me in one of these?" he flipped the flyer and handed it back to her. "I..." he leaned back into the chair, avoiding her eyes, "I think it's time," he sighed. He could feel the defeat weighing down his shoulders as he sank lower into the chair.

Hermione nodded. "Sarah is meeting with one of her groups this afternoon, why don't you stick around and try?"

"Thank you, 'Mione. And..."

"I'll sign you up for the trial," she said without letting him finish.

* * *

Harry hadn't walked out ten minutes that Sarah came knocking at Hermione's door. Apparently, it was going to be one of those days.

"Can I steal a few minutes, boss?" Sarah asked with a smile.

"Always." Hermione gestured for her to take a seat.

"I wanted to check in with you about the progress of the group sessions."

Hermione nodded and cleared some files away to make space on her table for Sarah's notes.

"Almost all groups are doing very well, considering. Some are still having a hard time surpassing the denial stage but we're working on it," she concluded after giving Hermione details on the latest sessions.

"Almost?" Hermione asked.

Sarah brushed her blonde curls back and pulled out a separate set of notes for Hermione. She didn't even have to open the notepad, the names on the cover immediately hinted at what the problem might be.

"Malfoy?"

Sarah nodded.

"Is he being disruptive of the group's progress?"

"The opposite. I think the group is hindering his process. A lot of people attribute the lack of a soulmate to the heavy loss of lives during the war, and it's easy to direct that grief towards him when he doesn't defend himself. I suspect on some level he thinks he deserves it."

"Do you think switching groups would help?" Hermione proposed.

Sarah shook her head. "I don't see much changing in a different group. I'm afraid the same dynamic would recreate and making him switch every five weeks could do more harm than good."

"What about a one-on-one programme?"

"It's less than ideal but it might be the only way," Sarah admitted with a small shrug.

"Do what you think is best and keep me updated."

"Will do, boss," Sarah assured, gathering up her notes.

"Oh, and before I forget. Would you be ok with Harry Potter joining your session this afternoon? He came asking earlier."

"Of course. When is..."

"This year. July 31st."

"I see, not much time at all..."

"Thank you, Sarah."

* * *

The grief counsellor turned out to be a bubbly woman in her late thirties with a mane of curly blond hair and blue eyes who insisted on being called just Sarah. They had a short chat before the group session, and with every passing minute Harry felt some of the anxiety leave him. She seemed genuinely interested in what he had to say and for once he felt truly listened to. Maybe Hermione had been right all along (what a surprise) and there was something to this whole grief counselling. After the years in therapy right after the war Harry probably shouldn’t have been so surprised about it.

It all changed when he actually walked in the room where the rest of the group was waiting. He'd had the good sense to change out of his uniform robes, leaving him in plain jeans and a t-shirt, but there was no hiding his face and his scar. He actually felt the shift in atmosphere in his bones and it made him grit his teeth. He was no longer Harry, another man working through his grief. He was once again HARRY POTTER. He heard the name whispered all around the room, every eye on him as he stiffly sat down in one of the plastic chairs.

The sensation didn't let up all through the session, and when it ended everyone found an excuse to come and talk to him. He could feel his own desperation reflected in every single face in front of him and it made his stomach turn. He was a fresh piece of meat, prime cut at that. He'd made a mistake showing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are appreciated.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment you've all been waiting for: Draco and Harry collide.  
> If you've been following closely you know the days are running out so the tag 'preparing for death' becomes extremely relevant in this chapter.   
> More details at the bottom.

Draco stared at the Valentine’s Day card Scorpius had drawn for him. It was sitting on his nightstand, staring back at him like an accusation, Scorpius smiling at the camera as he put flowers in Draco’s wonky braid was a curse hanging over his head, ready to strike. He still hadn't found the strength to talk to Scorpius about moving into his mother's house. He couldn't put it off any longer.

They had a lunch date planned at Parkinson House and Blaise had drawn up the papers to give Pansy legal guardianship of Scorpius in her own right. They only needed to be signed to be finalized.

He felt horrible bringing it up over dessert, he was going to ruin the whole day but if he didn't do it now, he would put it off too long. It felt fitting that they would have this conversation in the sunroom, with the cold glint of stars looking down on them from the darkened sky.

"Scorpius, there is something we wanted to talk to you about." The cold descended on the room immediately, everyone felt it except Scorpius himself, too busy digging into his lemon tart to worry about his life changing radically in a matter of moments. 

"I— We," he glanced at Astoria across the table to steel himself. He needed to do this for both of them. "We think it would be best for you to move in with your mum and Pansy."

That got his attention. His eyes immediately snapped up; suspicion written all over his face, "Why? I want to stay with you, Daddy."

Draco sighed. "I know, ma vie, but—"

"It's going to be a difficult time for your father soon and we thought it would be better for both of you if you were settled here, you would still spend time with him but most of your things would be here," Astoria explained calmly.

"What is going on? Are you ill, Daddy?" Scorpius' eyes darted between Astoria and Draco, growing more and more worried, his tart forgotten for the time being.

"I'm not... yet. Remember when we talked about Miss Patil's friend?"

Scorpius shook his head stubbornly, his eyes filling with tears. "No, Daddy, no. You're not going to die, I don't want to go away! I want to stay with you."

"Scorpius, please," Draco's weak protest fell to deaf ears as Scorpius pushed his chair back and ran off into the garden.

"I'll take care of it," Pansy told them, getting up to follow at a sedate pace.

* * *

She found Scorpius sitting under the wisteria with his knees drawn up to his chest and his face hidden in his arms. It was just starting to put out buds, the weather still too cold for it to bloom, but flowers or not it was Scorpius' favourite place in the entire garden. She sat on the cold ground next to him and watched his breath puffing out in small clouds against the dark sky, waiting until his inconsolable sobbing faded into something quieter and he looked up at her, sniffling.

"I don't hate you, Aunt Pansy."

Pansy smiled softly, "I know, Pumpkin." She handed him a tissue to blow his nose and wipe away his tears.

"I don't want to leave Daddy, though. You and mummy have each other but he only has me, I don't want him to be alone." He twisted the tissue in his hands, trying to not start crying again. He was in that phase where he wanted to be big already and it would be cute if he didn’t have to actually grow up cruelly fast in the face of his father’s impending death.

"I know Draco doesn't want to give you up either." She awkwardly put an arm around him when he scooted closer. She still wasn't used to handling kids. She couldn't wait for him to be a teen, those she understood. "But he wants to make things easier for you. One big change at a time instead of all at once. How about we wait until April to officially make the move? We can set the date so your Daddy doesn't have to think about it anymore but you get to stay with him as long as possible."

"I want to stay until May."

Pansy smiled and rested her chin on his head, she couldn't resist a kid trying to negotiate terms with her. "Mid-May it is."

They stayed like that for a while, Scorpius' head resting on her shoulder as they tried to come to terms with the darkness they could both feel at the horizon, much thicker and more impenetrable than the late winter night around them.

"I don't want Daddy to die," Scorpius whispered, as if afraid to speak the words out loud.

"I don't want that either, Pumpkin. Before he was your Daddy, he was my very best friend. He still is. But there isn't much we can do," Pansy told him softly, rubbing his back. It was horrifying having to prepare a child for his dad's death, all while grieving the loss of her best friend. Sure, she would have Blaise, but he wasn't Draco.

"Hermione Granger will save him."

"I really hope she can."

* * *

April rolled around cold and full of rain, which did nothing to lift Hermione's mood as she stared at the small pile of files on her desk, waiting to be filed away in the  _ Deceased  _ cabinet behind her. She had a meeting with her collaborators in the afternoon but she wasn't expecting good news, there never was these days. She sat and carefully labelled each one, silently asking for forgiveness for not being able to figure it out in time. Four months, just four months and she could be sitting there staring at Harry's name on the cover of a tan folder waiting for a black label.

She had to leave the office and get herself a coffee before heading to the meeting. She needed her head clear to drive the programme forward. In the last few years, all they'd managed to do was slow the decay through protection spells and anchoring to ley lines but, as impressive as that was, it still wasn't lifesaving. She'd gone as far as studying Horcruxes to figure out how Voldemort had managed to live so long without a soulmate, but the damage done by the process wasn't worth it. She'd tested the effects of love potions in a short experiment at the limits of ethics but with no sensible result in the stabilisation of an unbound wix’s element of wild magic.

"We've lost some patients in the last few months," Sarah mentioned, as if everyone else hadn't noticed. "I was thinking about merging the two depleted groups into one."

Hermione nodded. It was common procedure lately.

"And I had another issue to discuss. Harry Potter."

Hermione glanced up from her notes immediately interested. "Something new with him?"

"His presence is throwing off the entire group, they still see him as the hero he's been, thinking he can get them out of a desperate situation, and that isn't good for anyone involved."

Hermione nodded; she'd suspected something of the sort after Harry's displays of frustration with the program the last few times he’d come to dinner at their place.

"I have a possible solution but I wanted to run it by the rest of the team."

Hermione appreciated her effort towards teamwork but the specialists in magical depletion and corruption had very little interest in the grief counselling side of things and Hermione didn't have the strength to argue their bullshit attitude today. She had them come respectively from France and the US for their stellar curricula but she was seriously considering sending them right back and investing in a couple of kneazles instead. She took a deep breath, letting the frustration boil down, they were all working on an impossible task, the failure wasn’t any of their fault.

"I would like to have him continue the program separately from his group with just Malfoy."

Hermione's eyes widened, it was either the worst or the best idea anyone ever had, hard to say which at this stage.

"Why?" she asked, trying not to show too many of her hang-ups in her tone.

"I understand they have history together so they are less likely to idealize each other and the shared experience might help to process the current situation."

"Fine, you have my blessing." This might as well happen.

* * *

Draco felt entirely drained as he dragged himself to St Mungo. Scorpius had officially moved out and even if he'd been a brave little boy about it, he knew his son was hurting and he was in some way the cause of it. Sarah had sent him a note about some changes in the programme but he had honestly paid little attention to it among the chaos. He realized he maybe should have when he walked in the room to find it entirely empty save for Potter, folded up in a bean bag chair.

"Malfoy." There was no disdain behind the greeting, just surprise. "You're part of the programme?"

"Quite clearly," Draco replied, taking a seat in a squashy chair, purposefully avoiding the hard plastic things that were usually set up for these meetings. "It might have escaped your notice but we've been the same age our whole lives."

"You haven't changed a bit," Potter shook his head.

"You don't mess with perfection."

The silence stretched between them filled with unspoken words and shared experience too big to name in casual conversation.

"When?" Potter asked eventually.

"June fifth. You?"

"July thirty first."

"It seems you have me beat once again."

"Some things never change. Are you already feeling it?" Potter asked, clearly, he'd never learnt it’s polite not to point out when people look like washed-up corpses.

"Thank you for noticing I look like death, Potter, it's always nice. No, I'm not," he bit back.

"Sorry, I just..." he trailed off, lapsing back into awkward silence.

"My son moved in with his mother today. We didn't want him to be present when it starts," Draco said. It was odd to say it out loud, to Potter of all people.

"It can't have been easy," he commented. It was clumsy but it wasn't a cutting remark about how Scorpius would be better off as far from him as he could get, which Draco imagined was as nice as Potter could get about it.

"It wasn't," Draco admitted.

"From what Hugo tells me he's a very sweet kid," Harry offered after a stretch of silence.

"He is. Luckily he took very little after me and a lot after his mother."

Before Potter could say anything else the door opened to let in Sarah.

"I'm sorry for the tardiness, I see you've met each other already."

* * *

Despite the heat of the summer sun already shining mercilessly over London, Harry felt cold walking inside St Mungo that morning. He hadn't been able to sleep all night; he lay awake watching the hands of the clock on the wall slowly tick towards midnight until the last few seconds of the fourth of June slipped away. He'd been seeing Malfoy at the hospital for less than a month but he still felt like he was going to lose something significant. He hoped the git would get a few weeks, but on the other hand, Draco had talked about wishing for a quick departure to spare his son the suffering of seeing him wither away. Draco's unapologetic and all-encompassing love for his son had been a surprise. 

Not only did it defy Harry's entrenched doubt in Malfoy's ability to feel anything other than self-interest (with few very meaningful exceptions), but it also boggled the mind, given the model he had growing up. It also made Harry feel somewhat inadequate when he really looked at it, for how he handled his own biological sons. He’d bailed on them and still kept his distance from Ginny and Luna. He tried to tell himself it was to let them be parents without his meddling but when he stopped making excuses for himself, he knew they wanted him there, being part of their lives. Seeing Malfoy so deeply devoted to his son held a mirror up to Harry, reminding him the first thing a parent can do is be present, everything else comes after. Having Malfoy hold him accountable for it was the most uncomfortable moment of growth Harry had ever experienced, but it was too late.

As he sat down in his favourite bean bag chair Harry couldn't help but think back to when Malfoy had told them about the day Scorpius was born. How he’d defined it as the best and one of the worst days of his life. 

_ "It had been a difficult pregnancy; Astoria's family had always had trouble conceiving. The fact that it happened so easily with us... We took it as a sign that we were meant to be... I did at least." Malfoy's smile was tinged with sadness. "I was still in training to become a cursebreaker, and she was just getting on her feet after... Well after everything. It was too early, a month and a half too early. I was off in Ireland when Daphne's call came, I nearly splinched myself Apparating to the portkey station." _

_ Harry remembered how it felt when James was born, and how frazzled Ginny had been, he could only imagine Malfoy rushing in to see his son. _

_ "Lucky for me she had a long labour, so I got to be there for the birth. I was right there next to her, holding her hand through it all and I was thinking that was going to be it, the moment we finally aligned. What more could possibly get us closer?" he gave a wet chuckle and Harry realized Malfoy's eyes were misty and there was an imperceptible tremble to his lip, his voice was steady by a miracle. _

_ "I remember that moment like it was yesterday. The healer had just put Scorpius in my arms and he was taking his first breath when Pansy crashed in." He shook his head with a smile "She'd started her internship that day and she already ditched it to come check on Astoria and her godson. I actually felt it when they aligned, it was a wave of magic that filled the room until there was no more air to breathe, just magic fuelling the life of everyone in the vicinity. When I took my next breath, I knew I'd lost her. All the plans we'd made together were gone, and all I could hang on was the life we'd made together, our son, breathing for the first time in a room full of the most powerful magic the universe knows." _

_ He took a long pause to compose himself and neither Harry nor Sarah dared speak. _

_ "And I'm leaving him. I don't get to see him grow and blow the world away. He's the one good thing I've made. He's the one reason I've held out this long, but I want to check out." _

Of all the people to miss in his last two months on earth, never in his life would Harry have imagined Draco Malfoy would be in that number, but he felt his absence like a missing limb. He had the uncomfortable realization that he’d never been in a world where Malfoy wasn’t, he’d been a constant ever since he’d discovered magic, not always a pleasant presence, but a presence nonetheless. Malfoy had been something solid Harry could lean and push against to stay upright, and now that he wasn’t there anymore Harry was suddenly and unexpectedly off-balance, unmoored. The two short months opening up in front of him seemed terribly long now and even more lonely. The clock on the wall slowly ticked past three o'clock, and then five past, ten past, fifteen. At that point Harry was convinced Draco was lying cold in his bed, he was never late, at twenty past three Sarah agreed to skip the session. Harry was in no mood to talk about his feelings, he needed to be on his own and maybe have a drink. He didn’t tell Sarah that part, unhealthy coping mechanisms and all that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's deathday comes and goes, Harry believes he's dead and grieves him. The fic is NOT tagged MCD for a reason.  
> Also, there is talk about Scorpius moving out of Draco's house and into Parkinson House. It's a particularly painful conversation.
> 
> Go ahead, let me know how utterly evil and wretched I am for what I did in this chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are weird after Draco didn't die, so he tried to find a new balance amidst the uncertainty.  
> Hermione receives unexpected assistance from another competent woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think any particular warning applies here, except the usual impending death but I believe at this point it goes without saying.

"Parkinson," Hermione kept the greeting professional, but she wasn't quite sure what to make of her presence in her office. She hadn't received many visits from the head of the board of directors before and she assumed things would stay more or less the same after the change in leadership.

"Granger, we need to talk about your research." Parkinson stood from Hermione’s chair and circled the desk.

"If you're about to tell me to shut it down, know that I'm ready to take it somewhere else, along with the grant funds and the interns."

Pansy chuckled. "Oh, no, you misunderstand me, I am more interested in your little pet project than any other ongoing programmes."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her interest piqued. She hadn't had many reasons to believe a visit from management meant good news, and finding someone sitting in your chair, in your office didn’t feel like a prelude to unexpected improvements in one’s work life.

"Alright, let's talk." She walked past Parkinson and went to sit down at her desk, setting the stack of folders down.

"I believe I have something that might interest you." She produced from an inner pocket of her suit what resembled an ornate oversized sewing needle.

"What am I looking at?" Hermione asked, glancing up at Parkinson's face.

"This, Granger, is one of twenty eight artefacts of its kind."

"And I care because?" Hermione had to admit any rare magical artefact had its allure for her but she was curious how this one specifically related to her research.

"Because under the right circumstances it can create an artificial bond between two wixen." Parkinson set the needle down on the table between them and took a seat opposite Hermione.

"Really?" Hermione couldn't keep the skepticism from her voice. Nothing could create a bond from nothing. If there were a couple of handful artefacts that could, just lying around England, people wouldn't have kept dying at thirty.

"How do you think arranged marriages worked, Granger?" Parkinson shot back. "As you probably know Draco has recently turned thirty so, as far as high society is concerned, he's dead until further notice." There was an undercurrent of distaste in her voice and Hermione couldn't quite decipher who or what it was directed at. "So, I have recently acquired a son, pureblood at that. My mother thought it appropriate to pass down the tapestry needle to me, in case my son proved just as stubborn as his father and I needed to weave a bond for him with a suitable match."

Hermione set her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hand, intrigued by the window she was being given into the secrets pureblood families still kept from the rest of wizardkind.

"Why are you bringing it to me?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"Because I need you to figure it out!" The edge of desperation cracked Parkinson's collected mask. "My best friend is living stolen days, he could drop dead any day now, when whatever wretch was meant to love him for the rest of his days knocks on the big three-o bell. And he doesn't seem to care, so I have to care for him." The tremor of Parkinson's hands didn't go unnoticed before she quickly hid them in her lap. "You're the only one who can find a way to keep that asshole breathing on his terms, but you can't do it if you don't have all the pieces."

Hermione nodded. She knew exactly how she felt. Harry's birthday was coming up in a little over a month and despite all his efforts he hadn't found his match. Even Hugo had started to pick up on the fact that something was wrong.

"I can't force him to join the programme, even if I found a viable way to use that," Hermione pointed out, gesturing towards the needle.

"Let me worry about that," Parkinson told her.

Hermione shrugged. "So, how does this work?" she asked, gingerly touching the edge of the eye, she felt the smooth wood under her fingertip and followed the delicate grooves of the incisions.

"It's used in a specific ritual. The matriarch of the family performs it, the free strand of wild magic is materialized and she weaves the two betrothed together," Parkinson explained, producing an old parchment and smoothing it out on the table so Hermione could follow the details. "Most times it settled into a viable bond and the same needle was used to add the new member of the family to the tapestry."

"Most times?" Hermione asked, suspicious.

"There have been some cases of... ah... rejection," Parkinson replied evasively.

Hermione stared at her with an expectant eyebrow raised.

"The bond doesn't always settle and the couple dies a fiery death in those cases. Wild magic." Pansy waved a hand dismissively.

"Oh. I see." Hermione commented. She had to take a moment to let that sink in, the risk and reward involved in arranging a marriage. "Why does it work?" she carefully picked the needle up to study it.

"No idea. They're so ancient we're not even sure how or by whom they were made," Pansy admitted. "I don't even know whether they would work on anyone outside the families, as you can imagine old pureblood aristocracy wasn't in the business of arranging marriages for their children with partners of lower status."

"Of course." Hermione grimaced.

"I still think that is your best shot."

"Can I keep it?" she asked, tearing her eyes away from the etchings on the inside of the eye.

"On the condition that you're the only one to handle it. It's one of the few still in circulation and it holds the future of my child."

Hermione nodded, Parkinson was baring herself more than she would have ever thought possible, and in doing so handing her a possible way to save countless people.

"I promise you, Pansy, I will find a way. Can I call you Pansy?"

"You save Draco's life, Granger, and you can call me whatever you want."

* * *

The unrelenting heat of the summer made retreating into Hermione's office all the more pleasant for Harry. The Ministry never bothered to invest in proper weather control charms, at least not in the training centre or the cafeteria, and Harry was going to use any excuse he could to find shelter in the cool halls of St Mungo.

"And she just gave it to you?" Harry asked. Hermione had been talking a mile a minute about a new artefact she was studying. She'd barely taken a breath since Harry had walked in her office, his red robes unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up in a futile attempt to cool off a little bit.

She nodded enthusiastically and took the last bite of salad. "She wants me to make some progress and make it fast. You're not the only one highly aware of Malfoy being past his  _ best by  _ date."

"He was past his  _ best by _ date when he turned eleven, it was all downhill from there," Harry grumbled.

"I thought you two were getting along better these days"

"Maybe..." Harry replied evasively. "He's still an asshole." It had taken three days for the git to let him know he wasn't actually dead, just nursing the worst hangover of his life. Harry found some sadistic pleasure in Draco's misery, he'd let Harry mourn his death while he was getting shit faced on his own, he deserved to find his hangover cure stock completely depleted the following morning.

"But tell me about your thingy, have you figured out how it works?" Harry asked, steering the conversation away from Malfoy.

"Not entirely, the instructions are written in a way I can't entirely differentiate what to take literally and what is an obscure metaphor or allusion to something else. But I have a team working on it."

Harry hummed, trying to squash the flicker of hope down, even if Hermione did her best, he only had a little over a month, the chances of her cracking the code in those forty-five days were near to none.

"I'm sorry to kick you out this way, Harry, but I have the afternoon booked full of appointments and..." she gestured at the files scattered all over her desk.

"Don't worry, I'll see you at the Burrow this weekend," Harry told her with a smile.

"Of course, see you!"

* * *

"How would you rate the reliability of your casting from 1 to 10?"

Draco sighed; the standardised questions were getting old very quickly. It was his third weekly check-up but he was ready to blast the intern through the bland mint green wall to show him just how reliable his casting was.

"10," he replied instead.

"Any side effects to more complex charmwork?" he asked after making a check on his list.

"Listen, we've been through this already. I work as a cursebreaker, if there had been side effects to my magic, we would be having this conversation in the curse damage ward, can we move on?"

"I'm sorry, sir, it's just—"

Draco deflated and waved the frustration away; the boy didn't deserve it. "Standard procedure, I know, go ahead," he sighed, crossing his legs and leaning back against the uncomfortable plastic chair.

The trainee did his best to get through the questionnaire quickly before handing the chart over to Healer Currie to perform the degradation tests. By the end of it, Draco was three hours older with nothing to show for it. He knew he should be happy that his core didn't seem to be starting the degradation process quite yet, it meant he still had time, but it was unnerving. Before, when he had a clock to stare at, a date and time to die he knew where he stood, but now? Now he was caught up in a limbo of uncertainty where any day could be the day. It could happen today or in four years.

He was ready to die by the end of June, he didn't know what to do with the rest of summer stretching ahead of him, hot, humid and full of unanswered questions. The one thing keeping him busy was arguing to keep his job, which had stopped being entertaining about six months prior.

Scorpius was a delicate matter. He tried not to show it but he was watching Draco closely, as if waiting for him to drop dead at any moment, which wasn't that unreasonable, but it wasn't what Draco wanted for him. The few times he managed to distract him enough it was by talking about Rose Weasley starting Hogwarts in just a year. Apparently, him and Hugo had started campaigning to go early to keep up with her. If anyone were to ask Draco, the boys hoping to keep up with her was already a lost cause, early admittance or not.

"We can't let a girl win, Daddy!"

"There is no shame in being bested by a girl," Draco pointed out mildly, flipping the omelette he was making for dinner. "Hermione Granger bested me in about half our classes, and she wasn't three years older than me."

"Yes, but she's Hermione Granger," Scorpius argued from his spot at the table, as if his point was obvious.

"And Rose is her daughter, so?"

"But she's Hugo's annoying big sister!"

Draco smiled fondly at Scorpius' frustration. It wasn't easy to reconcile his hero worship of Potter and his friends with the fact that he ran around in the mud with their son an average of three days a week in summer and twice that during school days.

"Funnily enough, Hugo also happens to be Hermione Granger's son," he pointed out.

"Ugh, Daaad!" He complained, throwing his hands up in frustration. He crossed his arms and looked at Draco with an adorable little frown for a moment. He deflated quickly into a pout and slumped until his head was on the table, probably enjoying the cool granite surface.

"I just want to go to Hogwarts," he whined. "And do magic with Hugo."

"And you will, ma vie, in four years. In the meantime, you get three years where you get to go at his house without Rose around, you get to make cookies with Ronald without her critiquing your piping techniques and being almost perfect in every possible way," he paraphrased what Scorpius had told him about Rose.

That seemed to perk him up, three years of a completely girl free household was a fair exchange for waiting the appropriate time to go to Hogwarts.

"We can play quidditch outside!" Scorpius gasped, suddenly jumping off the chair and hurrying off. Draco hoped Weasley had enough good sense to restrain the boys' enthusiasm for high-risk sports.

"Did you know he was on the team when he was at Hogwarts?" Scorpius' voice came amidst the sound of crashing things-

"I know, ma vie, I was at Hogwarts too at the time, remember? I even made the team three years before him."

"Was he good?" Scorpius asked, electing to ignore the fact that Draco had played an arguably much more prestigious position.

"He was passable," he sighed, plating the food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment to send Scorpius to Hogwarts early. Also are you team Ron or team Draco for father of the year?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry's birthday comes and goes  
> Warnings: Guilt, self loathing, heavy drinking and vomiting all happen in this chapter.

Harry had considered going out on his birthday; throwing a big bash, inviting everyone, making it an event. But it would have been hollow, and most of his friends had small children now. He'd thought about having a nice quiet dinner just with Ron and Hermione but he couldn't bear the thought of Hermione watching him all night, waiting for it to happen, and beat herself up for not preventing it.

He stared at the calendar, it felt like being back in Privet Drive, desperately alone, watching the clock tick to midnight to mark the passage of another year in a world where nobody truly wanted him. Ron had made him a cake nonetheless. It was simple with green frosting, by some coincidence just the same colour as the one Hagrid had brought him so many years before, probably just as meaningful. Harry brought out a glass and a bottle of Ogden's reserve Firewhiskey, he wasn't sure it was the best pairing for the cake, but he needed something to melt the chill in his stomach.

He sat at the kitchen table, with the thick ring from the cruise staring at him with snake eyes, a token of all his failures. The clock hung over him on the opposite wall, its hands inexorably walking forward towards midnight, each one a step closer to Harry's death sentence. Harry didn't bother with a plate or a knife, he just dug into the cake with his fork. Dignity was overrated.

As he poured the second glass of Firewhiskey, he spared a thought for Hermione, wondering if she was still up trying not to waste whatever little time Harry had left to prolong his miserable life. He could only hope she wouldn't feel responsible when it happened. He knew what it felt like to carry dead friends on one's conscience. Dobby never left him. He didn't want to be that for her. He didn’t want to be that for anyone.

At glass number four, he started thinking of Malfoy. How he'd probably been in the exact same position just two months prior. It was a competition again, to the last one standing. He chuckled after he drained the glass, the alcohol burning through his throat without really warming him up. Why did it always end like this? Just him and Malfoy in front of something so inexplicably bigger than them. At least this time around they could get drunk about it. He was starting to understand Malfoy, he doubted he'd be able to send out a note in the morning just to let him know he was still alive.  _ If  _ he was still alive.

Glass seven was the one to reminisce about death. It hadn't been so bad the first time. An Avada Kedavra to the chest hadn't hurt all that much. Maybe death had been gentle for him because he mastered the deathly hallows. Death by core degradation was supposed to be excruciating. People usually get put in a coma to let it happen more easily.

Glass eight made him think about Rosie, and Hogwarts, and the children he wouldn't get. He wondered if he would last long enough to see her off on the platform. Maybe just to take her shopping for supplies in Diagon Alley. That would be enough. He would get her an owl. Or maybe she would prefer a cat, like Hermione. He surely wouldn't get her a mouse. Mice were no good. Would Hugo like a dog?

At glass nine, he found some time to feel guilty about the children he did have and couldn’t figure out how to be present for, he swallowed the regret with the thick burning whisky, thinking about how he would probably never be able to fix things with Ginny for how he disappeared when she’d done her best to include him in the family he desperately wanted.

After that, memories were fuzzy but when he woke up to the light streaming in from the window, hurting his eyes, his face was sticky, more than half the cake was gone and there was more whisky missing from the bottle than was accounted for in Harry's memories.

He got up on unsteady feet and very carefully shuffled towards the bathroom. His head was throbbing and the floor had never been so treacherous under his feet, not even when it was still riddled with traps and dormant curses left by generations of Blacks. He didn't dare breathe too deeply in fear of upsetting his stomach more than it already was. It was fully loaded with cake and whisky and ready to exact vengeance on Harry if provoked. He opened the cabinet door and squinted trying to find a vial of hangover cure but his vision wasn't the best without his glasses. He touched his face. Where were his glasses?

A slow trip back to the kitchen recovered said glasses only half covered in frosting, nothing a quick  _ Scourgify _ couldn't fix. Harry felt his stomach roil as soon as he cast and he realised what horrible mistake he'd just made. He dropped his glasses right back in the cake and lunged towards the kitchen sink, just quickly enough to fill it with bright green puke.

He felt like death, but he definitely wasn't dead. Being dead wasn't nearly as painful or gross.

When he finally made it back to the bathroom to find no hangover cure left in the cabinet, he regretted thinking Malfoy had deserved it. No one deserved to feel this miserable. He rested his forehead against the blessedly cool cabinet door and closed his eyes. What were his options? He breathed slowly trying to get his brain to work even in its current pickled state. It was like walking through soup.

He could go out and get some. Yeah, no, not an option. Maybe get some delivered, but it would take too long. Coffee. He could make coffee. Or he could brush his teeth and actually go to bed. Sleeping on the kitchen table hadn't been very restful.

He woke up to pounding at his door at an undetermined hour of the afternoon. He squinted at Ron and Hermione, greeting them with a vague grunt.

"Hermione was worried about you, mate," Ron said apologetically.

"We haven't heard from you all day!" Hermione argued.

"I was asleep."

They both pushed past him, inviting themselves in. When Ron handed over a dose of hangover cure and pepper up Harry remembered why he was his best friend.

Five minutes later he was much more clear-headed and put on the kettle for the three of them.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked, giving the remains of cake a dubious look. Harry knew it was a much more loaded question than the casual wording might suggest, especially given the way Hermione was looking at him like he might drop dead any second now.

"Like I passed my expiration date and am just waiting for green mold to start growing?" Harry replied, cracking a joke to try and ease the worry on Hermione’s face. It was weird. Intellectually, he knew it would probably take a few weeks, maybe a month for degradation to set in, but that momentous instant of turning thirty, that's what one fixates on.

"You've got your first check-up tomorrow," she reminded him.

"I know, I know, I'll be there," he reassured her as he poured tea for them.

"Not feeling any impulse to do something stupid?" Ron asked, adding sugar and stirring slowly.

"I got it out of my system with that cruise," Harry assured, a lone thought going to Tommaso. He was going to see his name in the death sections if he was still checking the news looking for it.

* * *

After Harry's birthday and finding him nursing the hangover of a lifetime in the morning, something snapped in Hermione. Night and day lost all meaning. The one thing marking the passage of time were the regular updates on Harry's and Draco's files after every check-up. She spent every waking moment in the lab or in the library, trying to understand how the needle worked outside the ritual, and what was the theory at the base of the ritual itself. Either could point her in the right direction to unravel the whole thing, but they were buried frustratingly deep in the British magical lore.

The world kept going around her but all she could see was the unchanging bottom line of medical reports: No sign of degradation detected.

It was both comforting and unnerving. Every time the tests came back negative Harry gained a few more weeks of life, maybe months, given the inherent power he held. At the same time, every month that went by hammered in the fact that something was going on and she had no idea what. Even with a younger soulmate Harry would be starting to show strain, imbalances, as they approached a certain age. The thing that made her most suspicious was that Draco was behaving exactly the same way. One could chalk it up as coincidence, but after twenty years of friendship with Harry and six years of school with both of them, she knew better. Nothing was accidental when the two of them were concerned, but until she could prove it, it was just a hunch and hunches didn’t make for good medical research. 

Pansy checked in every once in a while, trying to offer whatever support she could with her knowledge of obscure traditions passed down orally from generation to generation of purebloods. 

Like all the best world-changing medical discoveries, it happened by complete chance. Pansy was in her office, helping her pour through ancient scrolls loaned by the private collection of a hospital benefactor when Hermione grabbed the needle from its stand in a fit of frustration and yelled a generic detection charm at it. 

"Why won't you fucking show me?  _ Ostende amplius,  _ you piece of trash _." _

"Far be it from me to judge, Granger, but—"

Suddenly, the needle lit up and a thread of bright silver magic surrounded Pansy, it wrapped lazily around her left arm and knotted over her left breast, a long tail trailed off through the south wall to Lord knew where.

"What am I looking at?" Pansy asked, remaining perfectly still. Sudden movements weren't a great idea in front of strange magic coiling around your body.

"I..." Hermione glanced down at the needle and then up at Pansy "It's showing me. I think we're seeing your bond to Astoria," she whispered, awed at the level of clarity of the thread, there was an incredible amount of power coursing through such a small medium. "We're actually  _ seeing  _ a bond."

"Is that helpful?" Pansy asked, still trying not to breathe too deeply.

"It's something," Hermione replied, standing and walking around the table to examine it closer.

"Any chance you could turn it off? Not that I'm not all for scientific development and all, but it's freaking me out."

Hermione's eyes snapped up to her face. "Ah..." she glanced at the needle.

"Ah," Pansy repeated.

It took a few tries to get the right words but eventually, Hermione managed to turn it off with  _ Absconde. _

For the first time in months, she went home early. She wasn't crawling around blind anymore. She was still stumbling, barely able to stand up in front of the magnitude of her mission but she could see, Pansy had gifted her eyes to see the treacherous path she was on.

* * *

She barely noticed another summer flying by. The sticky heat of August mellowed out into the gentle chill of September until it came time to accompany Rose to King’s Cross. She'd been so excited to go to school and Hermione had barely given her the time of day for a month. Ron had accompanied her to Diagon with Harry and if he hadn't reminded her the night before, Hermione would have gone straight back to work. She'd figured out a way to see bonds but she still had no idea what any of it meant, or how to interact with them in any meaningful way, despite months of experimentation.

"I'm sorry I wasn't very present for you lately, darling," she apologized to Rose as she helped her load her trunk on the train.

"It's ok, mum, you have to fix uncle Harry," she smiled, straightening her cardigan.

Hermione nodded, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "I'm doing my best, but you're still my daughter, you're important to me."

Rose nodded, "I know that. I love you and I'm proud of you, mum." She pulled Hermione in for a tight hug and Hermione couldn't help but place a kiss on top of her head.

"That's my line," she chuckled, rubbing her back. "Remember to write, your dad will be anxious to know about your sorting."

"And you won't?" Rose asked with a knowing smile.

"I know you will do great in whatever house you end up in," Hermione replied, booping her nose before stepping back so Harry could say his goodbyes.

Ron only had time for one last hug and kiss and recommendation to write often before Rose disappeared inside, the doors closing after her. They watched the train disappear in the distance, carrying off their little girl, growing up.

"I wanted to go too," Hugo complained.

"All in due time," Ron told him, ruffling his hair "Look at your aunt Ginny, she had to wait to go and she's still your favourite."

"My favourite is Charlie!" Hugo argued vehemently.

"Don't let her hear that, but my point stands. He had to wait when Bill went."

"Still isn't fair..."

"How about we go get some ice cream?" Harry proposed. That did the trick.

"Can I get extra toppings?" Hugo perked up.

"All the toppings you want," Ron promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if you got a little emotional about Rose leaving for Hogwarts too.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has a breakthrough in her research but somehow it's still bad news for Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings in this chapter, it's all fine and dandy (in the context of the story you're reading)

After the first few months past Draco’s thirtieth birthday, Scorpius started insisting to stay longer at his place. Draco tried to remain steady in his decision even as the months changed and the result of his tests didn’t, but his strength broke at one point. He couldn’t say no when Scorpius came to him teary-eyed, with his overnight bag packed to go back to Parkinson House and asked, "Don't you want to stay with me, Daddy?"

Granger assured there was no risk for him until Draco started showing signs of core degradation which, much to everyone's surprise, he hadn't. Not in the days following his birthday, not during the hot and sluggish summer that followed, not as the chill of winter set in or when it retreated to make space for a tentative spring and another summer.

It was the longest game of chicken with death, he knew it was coming but couldn't know when it would come for him. Draco couldn't let himself relax, he knew the moment he allowed himself to think he could enjoy a few more years with Scorpius, maybe see him off at the station of the Hogwarts express, that would be the moment it happened. Seeing Potter go through much of the same was his one comfort. Crossing him in St Mungo's hallways as they went for their check-ups, comparing notes on how Granger's new trainees were doing, it became somewhat of an easy routine in the year that followed. Draco would go as far as saying he enjoyed having him along for this absurd journey. For once they were on the same side of this grapple with mystery and impossibility, like he’d wished they could be so many years before.

He still couldn't resist the temptation to tease Potter about his dreams of great romance, even in the face of the ugliest parts of wizardkind need for a bond to settle their magic on a threat of death. His stubborn belief in something bigger, better, to make sense of it all was in a way endearing, a spark of childlike wonder, even marred with the bitterness of someone whose dream had been ripped away and doesn't want to fully let go. There was something admirable in hope in the face of the world’s indifference.

Having Potter around made the dullness of his trips to St Mungo more bearable.

"Tell me, Granger, is there news from the war front?" He asked, dropping in the seat in front of Granger's desk.

"There is."

"Well, good, I'll see you next— There is?" That was it, then. It was starting. Except... Granger didn't look like someone about to deliver bad news, all the opposite. Unless she'd developed a taste of sadism, the glint in her eyes hinted to some positive development. "Well, out with it, what news?"

"I've recently come across a way to see bonds, it's still very experimental but it might help bring clarity to your status."

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"I still can't interact with them properly, but just being able to look at them helps with understanding why they behave the way they do," she offered.

"Go ahead."

Draco opened his arms, in a clear invitation to do her worst. What did he have to lose after all? She retrieved an ancient tapestry needle from a drawer and muttered  _ Ostende amplius. _ The crackling of magic filled the room immediately as the needle lit up, and Draco found himself wrapped in a thick golden thread that coiled three and a half times around his right arm to end in a knot over his heart.

"That's weird."

Draco looked up from his chest to Granger's face, "That's not very comforting to hear."

"Well, it's just... I didn't expect it to look like that," she tried to explain as she walked closer to examine the line casting off from his arm towards the door and disappearing out of it. "It doesn't look like an unsettled bond, see here?" she pointed at the neatly tied knot on his chest. "This usually is a live edge in my patients, and it frays over time as degradation sets in."

Draco studied the intricate loops of thread, it looked secure, and definitely not fraying.

"But fulfilled bonds usually loop over the left arm, and only once or twice..." she traced on Draco’s body the path as she explained, trailing down Draco's arm until she stopped at his forearm. He was already marked by another. She glanced up at his face and he could read in her eyes that she put it together as well.

"But it doesn't make sense, you haven't tied yourself to anyone and it's not something that happens accidentally." She leaned back against the edge of her desk and studied him like he was a particularly intricate puzzle. Draco just wished he knew the rules of the game.

"This might be simplistic, but couldn't we just... follow the thread and see where it goes?" Draco felt silly for just suggesting it, it could very well lead halfway across the world for all they knew, or, and this was a much more horrifying thought, up north to Scotland, to the Hogwarts courtyard where Voldemort had met his demise. After all he was the one person with whom Draco had performed a binding ritual.

"It's not a completely far-fetched idea, but—"

The knock on the door startled them both and Granger dropped the needle, interrupting the spell. Without even waiting for an invitation Potter opened it and peeked in.

"Hey, 'Mione, I came with lunch."

"Potter, still the same appalling manners..." Draco commented, somehow it came out almost fond.

"Daddy!" Scorpius weaselled past Potter's legs to get to him.

"What are you doing here, ma vie?" He asked, wrapping an arm around him when Scorpius crashed into his side.

"Aunt Pansy brought me to work with her, but she's doing boring stuff, she told me I could explore the wing as long as I didn't open any door. I met Harry Potter. He's Harry Potter!" he was talking a mile a minute gesturing excitedly towards Potter to emphasise his point.

"I'm aware," Draco replied, smiling at him over Scorpius' head. Potter looked awfully awkward and it sparked an unprecedented delight in Draco's chest.

"I just found him wandering and..." He tried to explain.

"He signed my journal, Daddy, look!" Draco hummed when Scorpius showed him a crude drawing with Potter's chicken scratch of a signature at the bottom.

"I see he draws almost as well as you do," Draco commented. "Did you thank Mr Potter?" he asked.

"Harry, it's... Harry is fine," Potter replied.

"Well..." Draco prompted.

"Thank you, Mr Harry," Scorpius told him, carefully closing his journal and putting it away.

"Good. Granger, I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short. I have to return my son to his guardian." He got up, holding out his hand for Scorpius to take as he stood up. "Enjoy your lunch, I'll see you next week."

Granger nodded, giving Scorpius a smile and a little wave. His awed whisper of  _ Hermione Granger  _ wasn't lost on anyone in the room. Draco almost admired his ability to be awed by her when he was at her house more often than at his own grandma's, the power of a small child's mind.

"Mr Harry," Draco nodded at Potter with a private little smile as they walked out, closing the door behind themselves.

* * *

"He's a cute kid, isn't he?" Hermione turned to put Draco's file away, she would update it after lunch.

"He is. I can't believe I hadn't met him yet, listening to Hugo it feels like he's over at yours more than I am." He glanced at the closed door before taking a seat and pulling out Ron's packed lunch.

Hermione chuckled, "You sound like Ron; it took him a while to resign himself to the fact that his son had elected to be best friends with a Malfoy spawn. I think it's sweet. I could have never imagined myself saying it but Draco makes for a great dad." She sat down with a satisfied sigh; it had been a productive morning. "What?" She asked when she saw Harry's dubious expression.

"It's not like Malfoy had the best parenting models," Harry pointed out.

"That only speaks in favour of his effort to better himself," Hermione argued. "Look at Scorpius, he's polite, well-behaved, enthusiastic about life, and very emotionally intelligent for his age." She counted off on her fingers as she listed all the good qualities she'd witnessed the kid display. "And he's a good influence on Hugo. I can't always say the same about you, now, can I?" she teased.

"Well, maybe I should start calling Malfoy 'Daddy' and see how that plays out," Harry deadpanned.

"I would pay actual money to see that," Hermione giggled.

Harry snorted, shaking his head. "Have you figured out how to make that work?" He asked, nodding towards Parkinson’s needle, sitting on her desk.

"I made it do something," she replied, putting it back in its case. "I suspect there is more to it but it's still a step forward."

Harry waited for her to elaborate for a moment, "Are you going to tell me what it does or am I supposed to beg?"

"It lets me see the path of wild magic casting off from one's core," Hermione explained. "Our previous research allowed us to only manifest shadows of a wix's core because it's highly concentrated and we already know where it is, but this... Oof, I wish I knew how it worked. I've been slowly testing all of my patients to work out patterns and try to decode what I'm seeing but it's a slow process."

Harry hummed, trying not to let Hermione's enthusiasm rub off on him, it was a negligible change in the whole situation.

"If I could replicate the magic imbued in it, I would be able to diagnose core degradation much earlier and start treatment at a precocious stage. I was planning to try it on you at your next check-up but since you're here we can do it after lunch if you're up for it," she proposed.

"Sure." Harry nodded, unwrapping his still perfectly crisp piada romagnola.

Ron was on an experimental journey with his cooking. Rose going off to Hogwarts had left him with a bit of an empty nest syndrome that no amount of digging up worms with Hugo and Scorpius could fix. Italian cooking seemed to be a more effective treatment and Hermione was better inclined to deal with a fridge full of risotto alla monzese rather than mud all over the house and a worm farm in the living room.

"How's that promotion looking?" Hermione asked as they ate.

"Unlikely," Harry sighed. "They're reluctant to put an unbound man past thirty at the head of the office, even if his name is Harry Potter."

Hermione nodded, it sucked but it was understandable, as dangerous as the Auror profession was one would try to minimise the chances of your head of training dropping dead unexpectedly.

"I'm trying to negotiate some kind of shared responsibilities deal so I can get the position but the department would still get the security of someone bonded occupying the spot," Harry mentioned as he studied the piada to decide which side was the best to attack first.

"That sounds reasonable."

"Not a word you would usually associate with Ministry bureaucracy." Harry smiled bitterly.

"It's better than it used to be," Hermione pointed out.

"The bar was literally on the floor, to get worse they would have to put a genocidal maniac in charge, oh wait, they did."

Despite the many shortcomings of the political leadership of the magical community, Hermione had to admit it was comforting to know there were people critical of the system working it now, things had been slowly but surely getting better, starting with public education for magical children before Hogwarts, which had soothed her anxiety while she was pregnant with Rose.

Harry was on a roll, giving out the juiciest Ministry gossip until the last crumb of their lunch had disappeared.

"So, how's it going to work?" Harry asked, leaning back against the chair and eyeing the needle, sitting unassumingly next to the lamp on Hermione’s desk.

"Just relax and let it happen," Hermione replied.

She pulled the needle from its case and took a deep breath before saying  _ Ostende Amplius. _

She had to squint against the light that shone from Harry's chest, pure white and bright enough to blind her. After a moment her eyes grew accustomed to it and she could make out the details, the thread was at least an inch thick, closer to robust string than the light embroidery thread she'd seen on others, and it was in a configuration she'd never encountered before. It cast off from Harry's core to loop through his chest, over his right shoulder, through his chest again, under his left armpit only to thread back into his core, forming a bit of a wonky infinity symbol around his torso.

"Ah, this is new..."

"Somehow I'm not as surprised as I should," Harry commented, pulling a smile out of Hermione.

"It doesn't resemble anything I've seen before. It's..." She leaned closer to examine the loops, the entry points and exits. Aside from one's core, there weren't magic centres in a person's chest, not like the arms or the neck. She'd assumed free threads of magic would loop around areas of highly concentrated power, but...

"Oh, Harry..." She whispered. "It's..."

He reached up to rub at the spot where the magic passed through him twice, his fingers barely disturbed the flow "The Avada Kedavra scar," he concluded. "What does that mean?" He glanced up at her, the glint of amusement was gone from his eyes. She knew how much he feared his bond with Voldemort might have ruined him beyond hope of reparation and this felt like the confirmation of his worst nightmare.

"I don't know yet," she told him honestly.

"But?"

"I think you might be self-settled," Hermione told him. "It's just a guess for now, but there are accounts of people living unusually long lives without ever being bonded and... your magic loops around you to tie up the live edge. You have been through unique magical phenomena; it's not outside the realm of possibility that..."

She didn't get the chance to finish speaking that Harry had stood and left without another word. She cut the spell and put the needle back in its case. He needed some space, and she confided in Sarah's ability to help him deal with the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm curious to hear at this point your theories about why the two dummies aren't dead yet.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Harry have a conversation, and that's just the beginning of the end, isn't it?  
> Draco starts taking control of his life and gets an insight into Harry's brain.  
> Ron stops having such a good time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS  
> There's talk of James, Lily, Sirius and Remus being dead, it's not entirely sensitively handled.  
> Draco admits openly to his slightly suicidal tendencies, that's handled a little better.  
> Harry discusses his less-than-stellar handling of fatherhood

Harry skipped his next two appointments with Malfoy and Sarah. The news he got from Hermione felt at the same time pointless and too much to deal with. He wasn't going to die suddenly, but the price was the loss of the one thing he'd dreamt about since he was thirteen: a person made to love him completely and who he could love back.

He channelled all his frustration into Christmas shopping for the kids until a strange owl showed up at his window. There was just a note attached to its leg, written in Malfoy's familiar handwriting.

_ A pity party is only half the fun without you. _

_ Show up _

The back read the date of their next appointment with Sarah. It was simply signed  _ Draco _ and for some reason that was what pushed Harry to actually put on his coat, wrap a scarf around his neck and brave the mid-December chill to go to St Mungo.

Malfoy was early, as usual, waiting alone in the same room. Harry took off his coat and decided it was a sit on the floor kind of day. The carpeting was thick and soft anyway, so he decided he might as well lay down and grab one of those floaty toys from the basket in the corner. As soon as he let it go, the bright green star bobbed up and down above his face.

"Your last check-up was that bad?" Malfoy commented, looking at him sceptically from where he was sitting in the squashy chair.

Harry tilted his head back to see him better and shrugged.

"Apparently, I'm a freak of nature and I'm bonded to myself or something. Hermione thinks that's why I'm not degrading."

"We have markedly different notions of bad news. That's why you've been sulking for the past month, leaving me to talk about feelings with Just Sarah?"

"I'm never going to find my soulmate because I don't have one!" Malfoy was being wilfully obtuse, why didn't he understand how horrifyingly lonely that was.

"And that is bad because..." Malfoy prompted for him to elaborate.

"I wanted what my parents had." Harry deflated as the weight of that admission filled the room.

"They still died at 21, Potter, even if they were bonded." There was a foreign gentleness to Malfoy's voice as he pointed out that painful truth.

"Fine, then Sirius and Remus." Harry poked one corner of the star and watched it spin slowly, bobbing in the air.

"Fourteen excruciating years apart, each convinced the other one murdered your parents, their best friends on earth." Harry hated him for pointing it out, he wanted to think about the good years they had, before and after Azkaban, little pockets of love in the midst of war.

"Why do you have to shit on everything?" He pushed himself up, sitting straight and facing Malfoy.

"Because you don't see what an amazing chance you have." He swept his arm around them as he shook his head. "You keep dreaming up this grand romantic moment when someone will have their choice stripped from them and have to decide whether to spend a century and a half with you or die."

"That why you categorically refuse to look for your soulmate? To avoid burdening someone else with your sorry arse?"

"You got that right." Malfoy nodded as if that made any sense.

"Still the same selfish prick, I see. You're all about giving people their choice but you're actively making the decision for whoever is on the other side of your bond." Harry crossed his arms, challenging him to give a smartass answer to that.

"Nice try, Potter, if you think my friends leveraging my own son would be less effective than the life of a hypothetical stranger you don't know me at all. Either way, you're the only one in the world who can actually make that choice. For once in your miserable life, you get to make a decision for yourself and you want to let a higher power make it for you. Again."

"But that's just it, I don't get to make that choice at all. Whoever I pick is going to leave me for their actual soulmate or die when they turn thirty, I don't get to grow old with the person I love like everyone else does... present company excluded."

"Ouch. But also, widowed people exist, look at my mother for example, my father died well over ten years ago and she's still going strong."

"Are you telling me to marry your mother?" Harry asked with a half smile.

"Ew, Potter, no she deserves much better than your sorry arse! Just someone whose bond has been fulfilled and lost their partner." Malfoy sounded awfully reasonable right there. "Choose someone you want to spend the rest of your life with, not because you need, but because you want to. Aren't you tired of doing things for the greater good?"

Harry flopped back down on the floor with a sigh, when did Malfoy get such an insight into Harry's inner turmoil?

"What about you?" Harry asked, trying to divert the attention from himself. "Has Hermione figured out what's going on with you?"

"She doesn't want to say anything definitive, but..." Malfoy made a vague gesture with his hand towards his left forearm where the leather holster cinched down the white cotton of his shirt.

"But?"

"Don't be obtuse, we both know there aren't many people I've performed bonding rituals with," he replied in a clipped tone.

"And you think it could have had that kind of consequence on you?" Soul bonds were supposed to be exceedingly complicated to recreate, that's why almost nobody risked trying to manufacture one.

"Do you have a better working theory?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shook his head. It made sense, Malfoy had been young, and his motivation strong when he entered that ritual. It had evaporated quickly as soon as he was faced with the reality of it but...

"It wasn't enough that he left an indelible mark on my body, he had to lay claim to my entire self." Harry followed the subtle movement of Malfoy's hand going to cover his left forearm, as if his sleeves, laced up to the wrist, and the dark leather of the holster weren't cover enough for the faded ink remaining on his skin.

"I think it's good though, that something from that time works in your favour."

Malfoy's eyes snapped up to meet his, and Harry was taken aback by the barely restrained fury brewing behind them.

"You think this is in my favour? Sure, I'm going to get a few extra years with my son and he will be delighted by it, it will be the best gift of his life, and you know how I feel about it? Terrified. Terrified that one day he might feel something akin to gratitude towards the man who destroyed so many lives because thanks to him he got to keep his father a bit longer. Do you have any idea how hard I worked to overcome my past allegiance to that man? To what  _ I  _ was under him?"

Harry tried to speak up but Malfoy clearly wasn't done. He stood up, looming over Harry with his fists clenched, almost vibrating with the intensity of the anger he was drawing out.

"He took my family from me, the love of my father, my innocence and my childhood. You killed him with _my_ wand, you owe your life to my family _twice_ _over_ and I still have to walk the world with his ownership etched into my body every day. Can you even begin to imagine how disgusted I am with the idea of owing my life to him? Having any part of him still inside me?"

"I can. Quite clearly," Harry replied quietly. "I was bonded to him. For a lot longer than you were. I had my family ripped apart by him more times than I can count. Every time I tried to build a new one it inevitably got poisoned by his thirst of power, Dumbledore's lack of empathy or a combination of both."

Malfoy slowly deflated with every soft-spoken word Harry laid out at his feet.

"He took my entire childhood and made me a soldier before I could even figure out how to be a boy, let alone a man. I've given my life to allow my friends a chance at normalcy, at making a family in time of peace instead of in the middle of a war, and for that I have to pay. I have to pay with the one thing I wanted out of all that: a chance at my own family, that happiness everyone gets sold on, the dream of a burning romance settling in the warm embers of a domestic hearth. I will  _ never  _ have that. Once again I only have myself to face the rest of my life with." Harry bit the inside of his cheek and took a slow breath, trying to keep the rising despair at bay before it could spill over and make him cry in front of Malfoy.

"You know what's funny?" Harry mentioned, shaking his head. "For a while, I dreamt I would bond with someone much more famous than myself, so I could just stop being HARRY POTTER always written in all caps and become _husband of_. Not much chance of that, uh?"

Harry rubbed his eye and gave a wet chuckle when Malfoy sat down on the floor next to him, batting the floating star away.

"I had no idea you felt that way." Malfoy gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a tentative pat on the back that made Harry break entirely. The absurdity of Draco Malfoy awkwardly trying to offer some kind of comfort while they were both, once again, wrapped up in a fucked-up situation with no clear exit sign, pushed him to just lean into his side. It was that kind of day, where letting Malfoy hug him while he tried not to cry might just as well happen.

"I just want to feel wanted for who I am, not what I've done," he whispered into Malfoy's undoubtedly overpriced dark robes.

"I feel like you two barely need me anymore."

They both startled when Sarah spoke. Neither of them had noticed her walk in, and a quick glance at each other confirmed that they had no idea how much of the conversation she'd witnessed.

* * *

As the holidays rolled up, Draco couldn't shake Potter's words. Despite the way it had come to be he had a new chance at life. All those things he thought he'd never get were now once again a possibility. He'd already got two more Christmases with Scorpius than he thought and the woman he was training might never become his substitute, but maybe his partner if he even wanted to keep working for some third-tier cursebreaking business. He could start his own now if he wanted.

It was one of those days between Christmas and New Year's Eve, where all time lost meaning and days bled together in one amorphous continuum, as if the year got too tired to hold its shape at the end. Daphne had insisted they all went to spend some time together in the Swiss Alps. Pansy and Blaise had kidnapped his son to teach him to ski, Daphne was busy organising the celebration which left him alone with a cup of strong tea to contemplate the stretch of time suddenly opening up ahead of him, mesmerising and terrifying like the unending field of driven snow right outside the window.

"Something is bothering you." Draco barely shifted when Astoria walked up to the window next to him, a big blanket draped over her shoulders. Of course, she could tell. She would probably leave him alone if he just told her it was end-of-the-year blues, but he didn't want to hide from her anymore.

"I never had to plan a life that didn't involve you by my side," he murmured, staring out of the window. It was an unspoken understanding that, while he learned to live with the fact that they would never be a bonded pair, he never really stopped loving her, but he still couldn't admit it while looking into her eyes. "I decided I was done the moment you married Pansy and spent the following six years preparing to die. I never gave a thought about... You know, living."

"I will always be by your side, I may not be your soulmate but I'm your friend, your best friend in law and the mother of your child. There isn't just one type of love, Draco, you know that. Look at Scorpius and tell me you don't love him more than any hypothetical perfect partner you may or may not have waiting for you out there, or that you wouldn't kill and die for Pansy or Blaise, or even my sister. You have a chance to do good, to leave a mark on the world on your own terms. You don't need me to be complete, you already are."

"You've been spending too much time with Granger."

"Well, she's an intelligent and interesting woman, and she's got a point, a world where wixen are self-settled is a world with a lot less inequality and a lot more possibility."

* * *

Come January, while Scorpius delighted in his brand new young potionist set and Pansy tried to devise wards around the kitchen of Parkinson House to ensure the twain never meet, Draco went to see Granger again.

"Draco, I thought your appointment was on Thursday," she greeted him. "Did I note it down wrong?"

"No, it is, I'm here for another reason," Draco replied, closing the door behind himself. "I have a proposition for you."

Granger gestured for him to take a seat, "I'm all ears."

"I know you've been grappling with an artefact Pansy brought you, I want to help you with it."

"What makes you think you  _ can  _ help?" the way she leaned closer and the glint in her eyes betrayed her interest even as she tried to keep her tone cool and disinterested.

"I'm fairly confident I've handled more fucked up pureblood cursed artefacts than whatever team you put together to study it."

"Fair point. What about this one in particular?" She asked, relaxing back into her chair.

"I'm afraid I have no direct experience with it. It gets passed from mother to eldest daughter and my mother wasn't the eldest."

"Bellatrix." She spat the name out like it was poison.

"Circe knows what she did with it." Draco nodded.

"What's in it for you?" she gave him a calculating look, but for once there was nothing to find.

"I want to do something meaningful and I think helping you finish your work might be it."

The silence stretched between them for the space of several breaths. Draco hadn't considered the possibility that she might say no, maybe he should have.

"Alright, Draco, I'll take you in, on one condition."

"Which is?"

"You gotta quit calling me Granger, our kids have been best friends for years, you’re on the same PTA as my husband, and it makes me feel old. You get to call me Granger in our acceptance speech of the Chiron award when we've figured this thing out."

Draco smiled, "Healer Weasley you've got a deal."

"I hate you," Hermione chuckled. "When can you start?"

"Give me a week to get things in order with my job, shouldn't be too hard. They’ve been ready to get rid of me for three years; if only I decided to do the decent thing and die."

"I expect you to be punctual on Monday."

* * *

Ron sipped his cool lemonade, sitting on a comfortable wicker chair under the shade of the willow tree at Parkinson House. He could easily keep an eye on the boys chasing each other on their brooms over the orchard but still avoid the summer sun.

"You're becoming somewhat of a permanent fixture around here," Astoria commented, sitting down next to him and reaching for a glass from the wrought iron table.

"My wife is letting our house get overrun by Slytherins," Ron complained, pouring her some lemonade from the pitcher. "Draco, her assistant, and now my own daughter, I feel outnumbered."

Astoria hummed, looking at him with a half smile barely hidden behind the rim of her glass "So you thought to come to Parkinson House to seek solace from the overpowering presence of Slytherins?" her tone was light and innocent but Ron had an abundance of siblings, he knew when he was being made fun of.

"Shut up, I need a sympathetic ear right now," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry, please go on." She gestured for him to continue.

Ron sighed, glancing up at their children, flying around with their feet grazing the top of the apple trees, their trilling laughter filling the sky.

"It's just. Rose is home from her first year at Hogwarts, and I'm very proud of her being the first Weasley in Slytherin, showing what's what to those snot-nosed prats—"

"Oi!"

"Sorry. I mean... She's got all these stories to tell and I missed her, you know? But the house has been turned into this extension of St Mungo. Hermione isn't content to just bring home work, she brings home her assistant and now Draco. And I get it, we've all grown up and we're all kind of friends in a weird way... Children, they do things to you you don't expect. But he's still Draco Malfoy. I fell in love with Hermione a little bit when she punched him in the face back when we were fourteen."

Astoria chuckled and Ron felt suddenly self-conscious about how much he'd let out, considering the man was the father of her child.

"He probably deserved it back then," she commented.

"And now it's all she can talk about. I get flashbacks of Harry. Draco did this, Draco did that, he brought me this amazing old book, Draco is so smart, he's so skilful. I want my wife back." Ron did his best not to whine at that last part, but Astoria's amused smile made him suspect he didn't quite succeed.

"Someone is a little jealous, uh? Don't worry Draco's attraction to her is purely intellectual, and I'm willing to bet the reverse is true."

Ron sighed, maybe he was a little jealous of Draco, what a concept.

"Don't get me wrong I am very proud of her and support her work completely, but it was nice to keep it separate from home life. There used to be a moment where she stopped being Healer Granger and turned back into Hermione to spend some time with the kids at the end of the day... Right now, I feel like that moment isn't there anymore."

Astoria hummed, "I had to ban paperwork from the bedroom," she confided, leaning back into the wicker chair and fixing her skirt over her knee. "Not quite a complete success that one. But I managed to get the assistants to stay outside the property limits. Scorpius though, he loves going to work with Pansy for some reason. I think he likes the idea of maybe running into Hermione actually," she chuckled and shook her head.

"It's kind of adorable how starry-eyed he gets around her," Ron agreed.

"From where I'm sitting, I think they're trying to change the world for the better, Hermione's always been like that, look at SPEW, the campaign for werewolf rights she ran during her internship, and her vocal support for primary schools for magical children. This is that but on a bigger scale and much more personal."

"She's doing it for Harry," Ron realized.

"She's doing it for your children, same as Draco," Astoria corrected him. "You just have to remind her of the existence of today. They both have this tendency of living so far into the future that they miss this." She gestured to the rolling gardens, the trees swaying in the breeze and the boys making a ruinous landing on the soft grass.

"Thank you, Astoria."

"That's what I'm here for." She smiled and raised her glass in a little toast.

* * *

It had started subtly, one late night that ended with a drink at Hermione's house, a few hours of work during a weekend while Hugo and Scorpius played with Ron, just a few tests run outside of the lab, a few files in the home studio. A bit of paperwork on the dinner table, and then suddenly the Weasley household had become a secondary branch of St Mungo's research centre.

Draco would have liked to be able to tell himself that this way he was spending more time with Scorpius while not sacrificing his work, but after years of Potter calling him out on his bullshit in front of Just Sarah, Draco's skills at self-deception were a little rusty. He knew Scorpius liked spending time with Hugo and Ron, and things with Rose had started mellowing out since she came back from Hogwarts, but he also knew he wasn't dedicating the time he should to his son. And yet, when Hermione pointed at a section of literature that gave them a new insight he couldn't help but look at his child's blond head and think how much freer he was going to be if Draco could give him this one thing, the possibility to choose without having to stake his life on it.

As summer grew brighter and hotter outside the living room windows and Draco’s thirty-first birthday drew closer, Potter started showing up a lot, much to the children's delight. Draco was on a rare break from research and experimentation; Hermione had gone back to the hospital to retrieve some results and check on the new applicants for the trial, leaving him idle at the house. Draco insisted she had an assistant for that but she was adamant she had to do it herself.

"Don't you have a job to do? Something about inspiring young minds and protecting the community?" He asked when he found Potter in the kitchen, with sparkles in his beard and the abandoned beginning of a plait in his hair.

"If you're talking about my ministry appointed proteges they're off being inspired by someone else. In a broader sense, there is a gaggle of children right outside that would speak about my inspiring qualities. Your son amongst them," he replied waving a half-peeled banana in his direction.

Draco snorted at Potter's insufferably smug smile. "That's a low blow even for you, and I will not deign it with a reply."

"Because you know I'm right," Potter retorted, as he finished arranging some fruit in a bowl to bring out as a snack for the kids. He almost tripped over Rose rushing in.

"Draco! Can you show me how to make the crane again?" she asked, grabbing his free hand.

"Of course, darling, let's go get some parchment, I have a minute before your mum comes back home." He let Rose drag him out to find spare parchment, but before they disappeared outside the kitchen door, he turned to look at Potter over his shoulder, and very maturely stick his tongue out at him once they locked eyes. The exasperated roll of his eyes was satisfaction enough.

"I want to make them for my cousins, they're coming to visit tomorrow," Rose informed him as they sat on the living room carpet to work on the coffee table, the one flat surface still untouched by Hermione's notes.

"Victoire and Dominique?" Draco asked, spreading the parchment out in front of them. He'd heard of Bill Weasley's children back in the day when he was training to be a cursebreaker but never actually met the girls in person.

"No, my other cousins. James and Arthur, Aunt Ginny's kids. Harry helped her and Aunt Luna have them." She dropped the bomb as if it was nothing and grabbed a pencil to start drawing.

"I see." He let her work, making a doodle of his own on the side. There were more children than he'd counted in Potter's life apparently.

It took a few tries for Rose to get the folds right so her origami cranes wouldn't be wonky, but eventually, she managed to get them to fly... if one used a very generous definition of fly, they would glide almost gracefully, and most of the time they would make a reasonably tidy landing. For two hours of experience, it was an impressive result.

The afternoon of work faded into night, dinner al fresco and, once Astoria came to pick up Scorpius, and Hermione and Ron started the process of getting their kids into bed, Draco lingered for one drink with Potter on the porch, enjoying the gentle breeze that cut into the heat of the day.

"You never talk about your children." Draco handed Potter a glass of Ron's fresh sangria and leaned against the bannister next to him, letting the warm light from the window bring out the softer angles of his face as he gave his back to the garden.

"They're not my children, are they? They're Ginny and Luna's." He took a sip and then set the glass down on the railing, looking out at the garden.

"Potter, I know you're not the sharpest lightbulb in the shed." Draco wasn't quite sure he'd got the muggle idiom right but at some point it was just a matter of confidence, "but the kids are named after your father and your godfather. As confident as I am in your ability to be painfully obtuse, I can't quite believe you don't see how much Ginevra and Luna want you to be part of the family."

"You're awful at compliments."

"It wasn't meant to be a compliment," Draco retorted. "And you're deflecting."

Potter took another sip of sangria and sighed, letting go of the tension in his shoulders as he turned to look at Draco.

"I wasn't there for most of Ginny's pregnancy and when she gave birth, I was halfway across the world, I didn't get the news until several weeks after the fact. I wasn't very present for them when they were little and now it's late, I can't get those years back."

"Potter, I can't believe I'm the one saying it, but they  _ still are _ little. As Rose tells it James is barely six."

Potter nodded, staring into his glass, and Draco could read the guilt weighing on his head as he watched the pieces of fruit bob around in the wine.

"I know they grow up fast - Merlin, I blinked once and Scorpius was already talking about going to Hogwarts - but they don't grow up  _ that  _ fast."

Potter gave him a half smile at that. "Why are you so invested in this?"

Draco sighed, he always forgot Potter was more than the bumbling goodie two shoes the world liked to think. "Because I know you want it and the only thing standing in your way is you."

Potter gave him a sceptical look and just drank his sangria.

"How many years have we been seeing Just Sarah together now? It may surprise you but I've been listening when you talk. I heard you when you talked about aching for a family, and I see how invested you are in Ron and Hermione's kids."

"I'm not your project." Potter frowned.

"Salazar, Potter! I'm not trying to make you my  _ project, _ " Draco snapped, his exasperation bleeding into his voice "By an ironic twist of events your family became inextricably intertwined with mine. I care about your happiness, Potter, because I consider you one of my own. I care about  _ you, _ that clear enough for you?"

Draco turned away and took a sip of sangria to try and hide the blush he could feel growing on his cheeks behind the glass and the growing darkness of the evening. He could still see the face Potter was making, like he'd suddenly turned into some kind of cuddly pet.

"I will deny ever saying that under Veritaserum, Potter, don't even try," he warned him before Potter could get it in his head to say something stupid.

"I was just going to say it's odd how I'm still not Just Harry to you. Your kid got there a while back," Potter smiled innocently, the warm light coming from inside the house brought out the softer shades of hazel in his eyes, the glint of amusement unmistakable.

"My kid is still stuck at  _ Mr Harry, _ " Draco pointed out.

"And whose fault is that?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment to show your support for Astoria's polite drag of Ron and Draco's need to spell things out to Harry.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A third competent woman appears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The worst of the angst is passed, we're heading towards happy ending zone and we're doing it through Luna's intervention.

As he sat in Ron's living room with Ginevra, Draco started suspecting that Hermione might be exploiting her influence at the hospital to just work from home. He had to admit he saw the appeal. Ron's cooking was stellar, and the kids were a lot more help than some interns, Rose in particular.

Harry was out with the older kids; Arthur had elected to stay inside and play with his shapes and puzzles while Hermione talked with Luna.

"So, you're actually working for 'Mione now, uh?" Ginevra commented, finally breaking the awkward silence between them.

"I would say I'm working  _ with, _ but yes, we're on the same project," Draco watched Arthur frown at the square peg that refused to fit into the star-shaped hole until it transfigured into a star. He couldn't help but chuckle. "He's quite precocious," he commented, glancing at Ginevra.

"He's Harry's kid, what did you expect?" She shook her head with a fond smile, watching Arthur pick up another peg. "Why are you interested in Luna?" she asked while Arthur proceeded to successfully, albeit unconventionally, solve the puzzle.

"We're working on repurposing an old bonding ritual to get a better grasp of how bonds happen and if there is a reliable way to produce them at will. After exhausting all conventional avenues of research, we thought she might be the most indicated person to unearth obscure lore passed off as fiction."

Ginevra hummed. "You're probably right. Luna has an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of questionable lore, bonds included. She knew we were it long before I started suspecting," she confided.

Draco kept quiet, giving her the space to elaborate if she wanted.

"I knew I  _ wanted  _ her to be the one for me back in school, but it felt more like a farfetched dream than an actual possibility... Which should have been a huge hint," she chuckled. "She says she started feeling it the first time I called her pretty when she started growing her hair out, and she knew for sure when I accompanied her dress shopping after her first dose of hormones."

Draco remembered asking McGonagall permission to study the advanced transfiguration spellwork when news of Luna's transition spread through Hogwarts. He also remembered dropping the project to focus on unravelling the intricacies of a vanishing cabinet the following year.

"Isn't mum pretty?" She asked Arthur when he showed them Rose's crane.

"Ye!" He replied, climbing onto Ginevra's legs and handing over the delicate paper construction for her to unfold.

"She always says that we shape our own bonds just as much as our bonds shape us, whatever that is supposed to mean, and that much like people they only bend so far before breaking."

Draco watched her carefully smooth out the folds of the paper crane to reveal Rose's drawing on the inside and it clicked, what they'd been missing all along. He stood and walked straight into Hermione's studio.

"Draco, it's—"

"The individual's will."

"That's why it doesn't always work."

Luna gave them a seraphic smile and nodded.

"How did you know?" Draco asked, perching on the edge of Hermione's desk.

"It's the needle. You can make a tapestry with whatever thread you want, but if it doesn't want to be there, if the stitch is weak, it's going to unravel and damage everything around it." She said it as if it was obvious. And it was. It was glaringly evident, looking at the board behind Hermione's back, covering the wall.

"Circe, Hermione, look at it. We carry a strand of wild uncontrollable magic inside ourselves but it can be settled in more than one way. Those arranged marriages exploded because the magic and the people involved worked against each other. The power can be guided and bent but only so far, never beyond the vessel's will." Draco pointed out the scraps of news about death and destruction following unexplainable discharges of wild magic.

"These instead settled because there was synergy between the parts involved." Hermione ran her finger down a list of known arranged marriages that lasted decades in Britain's oldest families. "How did we not notice the negotiations, the close friendship already present there... Some of these endured even the death of a partner." Hermione stopped and turned back to face Luna, who was busy smoothing down her skirt so she could follow the constellations embroidered on it. "What exactly is the point of the needle then?"

"Oh, almost none," Luna shrugged. "It's just a convenient focus object, more attuned to wild magic than an ordinary wand, some say imbued with bonding magic, some say forged with an oath..." She made a vague gesture with her hand, “Personally, I think it’s just for the aesthetic and little more.”

Draco conjured a chair and sat down; this was too much to take standing up.

"Hermione, that's it." He glanced at Luna, "If we can prove that artefact bonds are consistently viable under these circumstances we've found the solution to wixen premature mortality. We can free magic folk from the strict decrees of fate."

"That is only part of it, though, what about people who don't find or want a partner? It's still a partial solution," Hermione pointed out.

"A bond doesn't have to be a marriage," Luna pointed out airily "I knew Ginny was it for me long before we fell in love. Magic is much bigger and more colourful than people give it credit for, bonds can take a lot of beautiful shapes and configurations to settle and flourish. Look at Draco, how vibrant it is." She smiled at them and gave a little nod.

Hermione and Draco exchanged a puzzled look.

"You can see bonds?" Hermione asked.

"It's more of an auditory thing, a vibration in the air," Luna explained waving a hand in Draco's direction and humming a little tune. "It feels like spring," she informed them.

"That can't be right," Draco objected, he knew what was at the root of his bond, and there was nothing cheerful about it.

"Why not?" Luna asked with a small tilt of her head, full of polite curiosity.

"It's... It wasn't a good kind of bond and it is most certainly never going to become one. The one on the other side is dead."

Luna hummed, "I think you're mistaken."

Draco felt a chill fill his bones at the thought that Voldemort might still be alive despite everything, getting ready to come back and exact vengeance on those who betrayed him. He glanced at Hermione in a silent plea for help making Luna understand that this wasn't the bond she wanted to take as a positive example. Hermione just shrugged and pulled the needle out to take another look at Draco's bond.

"See?" Luna pointed at the loops around Draco's arm, "It's alive."

There was one and a half more coil than the last time Hermione had used the needle on him.

"But it can't be, Hermione, please, we know he's dead." There was an edge of desperation in his voice. What if he was the reason he could come back again?

"Draco, we don't  _ know for sure  _ Voldemort is on the other side, and the bond  _ is  _ changing. Maybe she is right," she offered.

Draco ran a hand through his hair, trying to convince himself that maybe Luna was right, there was something else behind it. He couldn't live with the thought that he might be the one to bring the third rise of the Dark lord after the last time. He couldn't let his son be caught in that. He glanced outside the window just in time to see Scorpius running towards Harry with what looked like a toad in his hands. He stumbled and it jumped right out of his hold onto Harry's shoulder, and then his head before jumping off to freedom. As Harry stood to check that Scorpius wasn't hurt his shadow fell over the boy and Draco saw it, almost invisible under the warm summer sun, a golden thread, wrapping twice across Scorpius' chest and trailing off towards the window. Harry was dusting off Scorpius' knees and Draco could barely breathe with the realisation of what the gentle glimmer meant.

"You were right," he whispered.

* * *

"So, you're not actually the next Quirrell," Harry surmised once Draco finished telling him about the day's work over a couple of unsettlingly spicy mint juleps. Ron's foray into mixology wasn't having the same excellent results as his experimentation in international cooking.

"Doesn't look like it, no." Draco smiled, the rush of relief still left him a little light-headed.

"Scorpius, uh? Makes sense."

"How so?" Draco took a sip of his drink and leaned back pushing himself lightly on the deck swing with a foot on the floor.

"You've been calling him  _ my life _ for years. Some part of you knew."

Draco was about to give a smart quip but it got caught in his throat. Harry was right. He had known. He'd felt it happen, the very first time he held his son he felt magic surge and settle around him, but he'd been too focused on the loss of Astoria's love to really understand.

"Salazar's balls, I've been an idiot this entire time..." He took a swig of his drink, ignoring the overpowering mint that followed the unexplainable cinnamon notes.

"You still are, but we love you all the same."

Draco's eyes snapped up, and he saw the panic fill Harry's face as he realised what he'd just said.

"I mean... I tolerate you most days," he tried to amend, fumbling with the straw of his drink.

"What would you say if I asked you out for a drink that wasn't made by Ron?"

Harry set the half-empty glass down. "He's a better cook than he is a mixologist."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How many of you saw this coming? Be honest.  
> Comment to shame Harry for the fact that he couldn't resist dragging Ron even while Draco was asking him out.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Proceed without worry, we're out of the danger zone.

When Draco woke up the next day the bed was empty, but the smell of coffee filled the house and there was a note from Harry pinned under the mug to let him know he had to go to work and didn't want to wake him.

Maybe getting drunk and bringing Harry home for some stellar sex hadn't been the brightest idea Draco had ever had, but holding the note and the still hot coffee he couldn't bring himself to regret it. Not when he could still feel the ghost of his kisses on his skin, and the warmth of his breath against his lips, making his insides flutter like he was a boy again.

He sat in the breakfast nook and looked down at the busy street below with the smell of coffee wrapping him in a luxurious bubble. As he sipped it slowly, he let himself indulge in the memory, still so fresh, of Harry's hands on his body. The thought of his fingers digging into his flesh sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, and he could feel the scratch of Harry's beard on the inside of his thighs as if he was still there between his legs. It had been far too long since the last time he'd let himself be intimate with anybody else. Some of it due to being too raw after Astoria, but as that wound stopped smarting quite as hard it became a question of stubbornness, hiding behind Scorpius and his need for stability to enable his refusal to show vulnerability. And then Potter came along again, infuriating as he'd always been, full of big ideas about love and romance, and with enough angst about it to share, and with that same guarded smile and sharp eyes, insinuating himself into Draco's family through his own son. It wasn't enough that he basically shared custody of Scorpius with Weasley, the most amazing dad of all time, father of the most impressive ordinary child ever, he had to hear about Mr Harry all day every day...

Merlin, he'd been raising himself all along and he was starting to become his father.

And he was just as in love with Harry Potter as his son... Maybe in a slightly more adult and self-aware way, but the crush was just as embarrassing. If not for the fact that apparently Harry wasn't completely immune to the Malfoy charm after all.

Draco's very well-deserved lounging and yearning time was cut rudely short by the clock, reminding him rather suddenly that he had a son to pick up and an appointment to bring him to. He quickly finished his coffee and got dressed. A linen shirt and some light cotton trousers had to do, there was no way he was going to put on robes in the middle of July. He may hate himself but not that much.

Scorpius was more than happy to learn he was going to spend the morning at Hermione Granger's office, as if he hadn't been catching toads in her garden less than twelve hours earlier. As he listened to his excited chatter about said toads Draco could scarcely believe something so good and pure like his kid had remained unsullied even being bonded to Draco his entire life.

"You're not listening to me, Daddy," Scorpius complained.

"Harry told you about Neville and his toad back in school, about how it was a very dangerous game to sit down in the common room without checking the seat first," Draco repeated Scorpius' last words back to him. "I always listen to you, ma vie," he added with a fond smile.

Scorpius nodded and jumped right back into the story. He barely stopped to breathe as Draco reached out for his hand and Apparated them both to St Mungo.

Hermione's office was distinctly less cluttered since the last time Draco had been there. The filing cabinet wasn't threatening to spill over at any time and her desk wasn't covered in notes and files. He knew for a fact that the carefully balanced chaos now lived at her house, much to Ron's dismay.

"Hello, Scorpius, Draco," Hermione greeted them with a smile. "Did your father tell you why you're here today, Scorpius?" she asked as they took a seat in front of her desk.

"You have to look at my magic to see what shape it is," Scorpius replied with a decisive nod. He sat straight in the chair, slightly too big for him and swung his feet a little.

"That's correct. Do you know what a soulbond is?" she asked, pulling a notepad between them.

"It's when two people who are meant to be together find each other and their magic gets mushed up together so it doesn't burn when they get old. Like my mum and Aunt Pansy, or you and Ron Weasely." Scorpius glanced up at Draco for confirmation. Draco gave him a small nod. He'd boiled it down to its essence.

"Correct again, you're very prepared," Hermione commented with an impressed smile.

"Sometimes I listen when you and daddy are working. I understand almost everything." Scorpius puffed out his chest as a slight blush coloured his cheeks under Hermione's praise.

"You're a very smart kid, aren't you? Your father and I believe you might have formed a bond when you were born, and I want to check to make sure."

Scorpius gasped and looked up at Draco. "That can happen?" There was a mix of confusion and excitement on his face, but as much as Draco looked, he couldn't find disgust or fear.

"We don't know yet, ma vie, that's why we want to check. There is a lot we haven't figured out about soulbonds."

"Ok." Scorpius nodded and his frown smoothed out in a determined mask. "Is it going to hurt?" he asked, a crack of worry disturbing the brave image he was trying to project.

"Not at all," Hermione assured. She took the needle out from a drawer and removed it from its case.

"Ok," Scorpius repeated as he braced against the chair, waiting for the magic to hit.

Draco was used to the wave of power gently lapping at his skin as Hermione released the power of the needle but he heard Scorpius gasp in wonder when the thread of power lit up around him, casting shifting shapes around his face. There was no doubt about it, Scorpius was glowing the same bright warm gold as Draco, the thread wrapped across his chest twice, then once around his waist before casting off and connecting seamlessly to the end of Draco's.

"That's the oddest configuration I've ever seen," Hermione commented, trying to follow the twists and coils around Scorpius' torso. Draco shook his head as he recognised the shape it took, flowing over his shoulders and low around his waist.

"It's how I used to wrap the baby carrier around him when he was a baby." He covered his mouth with a hand and shook his head. He could almost feel him, still impossibly tiny, wrapped securely against Draco's chest, with his round head tucked against his right shoulder, warm and protected. All along he'd been the one thing tethering Draco to the world, and now Scorpius was carrying the mark of Draco's care on him forever.

"I'm really Daddy's soulmate?" Scorpius asked Hermione. She nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry, ma vie, I—"

"I know you love me more than anyone else in the world, Daddy." Scorpius smiled at him, bright and easy.

"I do," Draco nodded, his throat closing around the weight of that simple statement. "From the very first time I held you, even before that."

Scorpius hopped off his chair and climbed into Draco's lap, "I love you too."

Draco wrapped his arms around him, and dropped a kiss on his temple. "You are too good for this world, my son," he whispered. When he glanced up, he saw Hermione pretending to read some file and he was suddenly grateful for that small pretence of privacy she afforded them.

"Shall we let Hermione take a closer look at you?" Draco gently nudged Scorpius to stand so Hermione could examine him and take notes of every detail.

"Look at this, Draco." She pointed at a spot on the left side of Scorpius' chest, right next to where the golden thread sunk beneath his skin there was something else, the smallest spot, a dot of warm ember.

"Another live edge?" Draco asked.

"So it would seem." Hermione shrugged. "But he's very young, if it is, it will develop with his magic and need settling too."

"What does that mean?" Scorpius’ eyes flicked between Draco and Hermione, in search of an explanation.

"You might have another soulmate when you grow up," Hermione told him simply, and that seemed to be good enough for him.

As they walked down the hall of the paediatric wing towards Pansy's office hand in hand, Draco thought back to the words he'd spoken so many years before, holding onto Scorpius like a lifeline.  _ All of us are born with a need for love, but some are gifted with an unmatched capacity for it. _

Somehow, he'd raised a person not only capable of loving him enough to give life back to him, but to give that same love to someone else. Once again, looking at the sun play with the gentle profile of Scorpius' face, Draco was humbled by the reality of his son.

As soon as he handed Scorpius off to Pansy, he went back to Hermione's office at a fast clip, thoughts and ideas whirling in his head.

"Holy Fuck, Draco!" Hermione breathed out as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. She had both hands in her hair, her eyes wide and slightly manic. "Fucking Hell! You're living proof that spontaneous platonic bonds are viable."

Draco nodded; his lips pressed in a thin, barely restrained smile.

"You fucker, you were the solution to all my problems, right here in my office for months, years." She walked aimlessly around the small room muttering to herself.

"We still can't reproduce it, Hermione," Draco reminded her.

"YET!" Hermione added, turning with a menacing finger pointed at him. "But it can be done."

Draco couldn't squash the zing of excitement rushing down his spine and lighting a fire in his lungs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment to show your appreciation for Draco and Hermione being a couple of nerds.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last bit of angst happens here but is resolved quickly. We're fully directed towards the happy ending, full steam ahead.

One year and another clinical trial went by in a blink, and before they could make it two Luna put her foot down and organized a family vacation to the Faroe Islands. 

Harry and Ron had expressly forbidden any work on the trip, and with the support of the kids and Astoria, managed to get a grudging agreement out of them. Thing was, they could forbid them from talking about it, and Harry had some very efficient ways to get Draco to even stop thinking about it for long stretches of time, thanks to very well insulated bedrooms and separate rooms for the kids, but in the end, the thought was always at the back of Draco's mind. 

He was thinking about it when they went flying together, the cold wind making the tip of his nose numb, and the salty air filling his lungs as they chased the sound of whale songs. He looked at Scorpius and Hugo keeping a steady handle of their brooms, a long way from those first times tumbling face down on the lawn of Parkinson House. When the kids grew tired Ginny and Ron took them back to the top of the hill where they had taken off, where Luna was entertaining Rose, James and Arthur with tales of faes and wonderful creatures leaving their mark on the islands. A part of Draco was still in the office, but it shut up for a while as he chased Harry dipping down the cliff, in free falls towards the crashing waves, and scared away the puffins with their passage. 

One morning they left early for a short hike and ended up having lunch on the grass. Harry had gone a bit further to introduce Scorpius to a sheep and of course Hugo and Rose tagged along. Draco was half considering just Apparating back to the hotel as he took off his boots to lounge on the blanket with Ginny while Luna took James and Arthur to see some local flowers.

He caught the tail end of a conversation as Luna came back, her hair full of tiny purple flowers and all of them with grass stains on their clothes.

“Why doesn’t Harry like me?” James’ question was quiet and tentative in a way he prayed Scorpius would never sound.

“Why do you think Harry doesn’t like you?” Luna asked, brushing his dark hair back and sliding a flower behind his ear.

“He never comes over and he only hangs out with me when we’re at Uncle Ron’s or at the Burrow, and now he even likes Scorpius more than me. Did I do something wrong?”

Arthur tumbled into Ginny’s lap while Luna crouched down to look James in the eyes.

“No, my heart, you didn’t do anything wrong.” She took his hands and waited for him to look at her, “When you were born Harry had very big things to worry about and he trusted that mum and I would take care of you. He wasn’t very present and now he’s afraid  _ you  _ don’t like him.”

James looked sceptical, “But I do like him. He’s my dad!”

“Sometimes grown-ups are silly like that. You could try asking him to do something just with you one of these days, I’m sure he will say yes.”

“Ok...” James still didn’t look entirely convinced, but Draco vowed to make sure Harry would come through when the occasion arose.

* * *

The following day Ron and Hermione were planning to get up early and take the children on a hike to see the puffins’ nesting spots. Harry suggested the two of them bow out and something in the way he said it prompted Draco to agree without question. It might have been the heat behind his eyes or the way his hand tightened on Draco’s hip.

Harry still woke Draco up before dawn, with a warm hand sneaking under his pyjama top.

“Mmm’morning,” Draco mumbled, blinking sleepily up at Harry.

Harry dropped a kiss at the corner of Draco’s mouth, “Good morning,” he purred, grazing his nails down Draco’s stomach.

“This is why you let Ron and Hermione kidnap the children.” He grinned, stretching a little.

Harry hummed and made his way down Draco’s unshaven jaw to the soft skin of his neck, bestowing kisses and nibbles generously. “They’re not the only ones craving some quality time with you.”

Draco tilted his head back to invite more of Harry’s kisses, “Is this what this is? Quality time?” he ran a hand up Harry’s back to tangle in his sleep mussed hair.

Harry pushed himself up to look Draco in the face, “Are you complaining about the quality of our time together?” he joked.

Draco hurried to shake his head, “Not at all, please continue what you were doing just now.”

Harry let out a hum that sounded a lot like a  _ you better not be  _ before leaning down to bite at Draco’s Adam’s apple.

It didn’t take long at all for Harry to coax him out of the warm pyjamas, leaving him only in his favourite Versace underwear, a very much appreciated gift from Blaise. Judging by the hungry look in Harry’s eyes Draco wasn’t the only one reaping the benefits of Blaise’s excellent taste in designer underwear.

The scratch of Harry’s beard against the sensitive skin of his neck and his kisses on his collarbone woke Draco up better than any strong coffee could, soon enough Draco was clawing at his infuriatingly thin cotton shirt. How could a man never get cold was beyond Draco, but right now he needed him naked.

He planted his feet on the mattress and with a practised move flipped them both over so he had Harry pinned under him. “You’re way overdressed for today’s activities, Potter.”

Harry just smiled up at him, “What do you plan to do about it?”

Draco was tempted to reach for his wand and vanish everything, but to do that he would have to leave his very comfortable seat straddling Harry’s lap, with Harry’s hard prick poking his ass in the most promising way. The muggle way had to do. Harry was very cooperative when Draco went to tug up his shirt and his boxers joined it on the floor in short order. He ran his hands down Harry’s chest, scraping his nails on the short hair there, it never failed to drive Draco a little crazy how easily Harry grew facial and body hair, how it felt under his hands and against his skin. Before he could get too distracted, he felt the gentle wash of Harry’s magic over him as he cast a cleansing charm, a quick glance at both his hands, still firmly on Draco’s hips confirmed he did it wandless.

“Showoff,” he huffed, leaning down to capture his lips in a kiss.

“You love it,” Harry retorted as he tilted his head back to bump his nose against Draco’s.

Draco sighed, cupping Harry’s cheek, his thumb brushing against his cheekbone, right where his beard was neatly shaved to enhance his features. “I do. I’m not going to say I love everything about you because your ego doesn’t need it”

“But you do,” Harry smiled at him amused, with his eyes full of the same warm, sweet love Draco felt filling his chest. He closed his eyes when Harry turned to kiss his palm, the gentleness almost overwhelming.

He expected it to be explosive between him and Harry, like it had always been, but he found out Harry was full of devotion and tenderness that he struggled to contain, and Draco was only too happy to be the receptacle of it. He got almost shy under the intensity of Harry’s eyes on him as he slowly lowered himself on his cock until he was sitting flush in his lap. It was still overwhelming to have Harry take over every sensation in his body, surrounding him and making space inside Draco’s body to be there too, the smell of his soap on Draco’s skin and the sound of his breath hypnotizing him as Draco slowly started rocking, building a steady rhythm. Then Harry took one of Draco’s hands from where it was resting on his chest and brought it up to his neck.

“Take my breath away, Draco,” he whispered, looking into his eyes, pupils blown wide enough to obscure almost all the green of his irises.

Draco smiled as his tempo stuttered, “You sap.” He curved down to kiss him languidly before straightening again.

He squeezed slowly, keeping a watchful eye on Harry’s face as he picked up the pace again. He felt Harry’s cock twitch inside him when he cut off his air supply completely and it was possibly the hottest thing he’d ever seen, as sappy and romantic as the whole concept was.

And then the knock on the door came, startling Draco enough to let go of Harry’s neck. He gasped for breath as Draco tried to keep his voice steady enough when he called out.

“Who is it?” He placed his hand back on Harry’s chest and rocked slowly, he was so close.

“It’s James,” his voice was muffled through the door, but Draco could pick up on the tentativeness of his tone even distracted as he was. “Is Harry there?” he asked. Harry’s hands tightened on Draco’s hips and then he swatted at his thigh.

“Get off,” he hissed.

“I was trying,” Draco replied, unable to resist the temptation of cracking a joke when it was being served up so perfectly.

“I’m coming,” he called out to James.

“I was about to as well,” Draco whispered, climbing off of him and going to retrieve their underwear and the hotel provided dressing gowns so they would be at least slightly presentable. He wasn’t quick enough to escape the swat Harry aimed at his ass.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Harry asked when they finally opened the door for the kid.

“No, I… Do you want to go see the ponies with Arthur and me?” he asked all in one breath. He twisted his hands as he waited for Harry to answer.

“I...” Harry glanced at Draco and Draco nudged his side, nodding towards the kid. “Yes, sure I would love to. Just… After breakfast?”

James beamed and nodded. “My mums are already at the restaurant, we’ll wait for you there,” he told him before hurrying off down the corridor as if afraid Harry would change his mind if he waited there too long.

Harry closed the door and sighed, leaning back against it.

“I’m sorry.”

Draco shook his head, “Don’t be, we can live out your fairytale romance fantasies another time, go be with your kid now that he still thinks you’re cool.”

Harry beamed at him, “I love you.”

“I know, I know, now go before he changes his mind,” Draco replied, handing him trousers, a shirt and a thick sweater. 

* * *

Draco spent the morning in the lounge room of their hotel with Luna, and Ginny, maps and leaflets spread out in front of them as they tried to decide which landmark to visit next and what hikes were doable with children under ten. 

Harry came back a little before lunch, his hair tousled by the wind and a grin splitting his face, and Draco soon found his lap full of children excitedly chattering about becoming horsemen after riding the ponies. 

“We pet them and they were very soft and they eated from my hand and their nose was wet and we rode them around.” Arthur didn’t seem to need air to breathe as he climbed over Draco to reach Luna all while talking a mile a minute about all the wonderful things he learned about Faroese ponies.

“It’s not eated, it’s ate,” James corrected his brother as he took the less direct route around the table to reach his mother. “I rode all on my own. I didn’t even need help getting up.”

Ginny smiled at him and ruffled his hair before standing up so he could claim the squashy chair next to Luna. Draco didn’t miss the way she took Harry’s arm and walked a few feet away. He knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop; it wasn’t his business after all, but he needed to know how it had gone with the kids.

“...this is your one chance, Harry. I know you have some stuff you had to deal with but they are my kids, you don’t get to play with their hearts.” Ginny was keeping her voice low, but even without seeing her face Draco could tell how serious she was. “You don’t get to play at being their dad for a while and then disappear again because you decide you like Scorpius better or you want to impress Draco.”

Draco would resent the insinuation, but he did go weak at the knees whenever he saw Harry playing with Scorpius, so maybe the callout was warranted.

“I want you in their lives, Harry, I’ve wanted you to be part of this family since before they were born, but I can’t allow you to do this halfway. I love you but I have to put their wellbeing first. If you’re in, you’re  _ in.  _ No giving them false hope. What will it be?”

Draco saw Harry’s shoulders square up and he gave a resolute nod that made Draco fall a little more in love with him.

“I’m in. For real this time. I can’t make up for the time I lost but I’m in, Ginny, truly.”

She pulled him into a hug. Clearly, that was what she wanted to hear. When he brought his attention back to the table, he found Luna watching him with a knowing look and Draco gave her a small nod that made her smile grow a little bigger.

“Tomorrow I’m taking Draco away to go see the statue of Kópakonan,” Luna told the children.

“Can we come too, mum?” Arthur asked

“It’s a bit too hard a walk for you, but you can go watch the seals with the others.” That got them all much more excited than the idea of climbing cliffs to go see an old statue.

Despite it all, Draco was still thinking about work when he accompanied Luna on the long and meandering nature walk to collect local ingredients and commune with the land magic.

They emerged one morning on a rocky promontory, with nothing but the ocean right below them and the echo of the waves crashing into rock and spraying salt water high enough to let them taste it in the air. A little further, right at the tip stood the statue of Kópakonan, naked with her back to the sea as the sun kissed the water, her seal skin folded almost all the way to the ground. Luna sat down at the foot of the statue and tilted her face up to the sky, letting the wind play with her hair.

"In places like this you can feel the magic in the earth and the sea feeding your own," she sighed, smiling at the splash of cold water up the cliffside.

As Draco watched Luna's skirt lie on the rock and the sea fade into the sky, it clicked. And he couldn't talk about it with Hermione until a whole torturous week later when they got back to the office.

"It just makes sense, Hermione. You ground the live edge of wild magic present in every wix in the ground, feeding the natural magic of the environment and it, in turn, balances the core."

"How do we know it works?" She gave him a sceptical look, her cheek propped up on her hand as he laid out his reasoning.

"That's how all magical creatures work. There is research on werewolves and Veelas pointing towards a connection with the moon granting them a longer life without a conventional wix to wix bond. It was discounted as hippy bullshit but what if it's true? Giants are born bound to the earth, marids to the sea, centaurs to the sky, it all fits together."

"Alright, say it's true, how do we employ it to prevent mortality?"

"We just need to devise a bonding ritual, and there are a million, it doesn't have to be perfect, it just has to plant a seed to start stabilising the wix. We pick a sufficiently charged place to perform it... it could even lessen the impact of accidental magic if you get children to perform it early."

"Too far, Draco," Hermione warned him. "we can't bind children to anything or anyone."

Draco bit his tongue to keep himself from replying. The ethics were questionable but it could revolutionise the entire magical community.

"It could be part of a graduation ceremony. They're still young but old enough to decide for themselves whether to take their chances the traditional way or just pledge their magic back to the earth..." Hermione considered, rapping her fingers on the table surface. "I'm going to need you to figure the spell architecture, it has to be sturdy but unobtrusive, so that it doesn't prevent a wix on wix alignment. I'll dig to see if there's some research on things like this."

* * *

A year and a half later they were standing on the frozen ground of Hogwarts at the edge of the Forbidden Forest where the lakeshore became jagged and treacherous under the December wind to witness Teddy be the first wix to ever perform Draco's ritual.

Hermione handed him the needle and he took a few tentative steps to the place where the forest met the lake. He spoke quietly for the first part, the cleansing of ill intention and the request for permission weren't meant to be broadcasted, but after that he stood tall, giving his back to them and the words echoed out over the sound of the water lapping at the shore and the wind in the trees.

_ Ostende amplius et finge. _

The bright purple thread of Teddy's magic illuminated the grey day with an alien light and quickly threaded the needle. Then came the spectacular part. Teddy held the needle steadily and started reciting the pledge.

"I pledge myself to the earth." He weaved his own magic between the ley lines under his feet. 

"The sea" - water rose from the lake to slide in the empty spaces of the woven pattern forming in front of Teddy 

"and the sky" - the wind picked up and the pattern filled like a sail and rose a few feet in the air "to honour the roots of my magic."

Teddy waited a few beats before speaking again. "I shall preserve the mother of everything, may she protect me and give me life."

Roots broke out from the ground and slowly enveloped the tapestry, carrying it down slowly until it disappeared in the ground. They all held their breath for a few moments as Teddy's magic shone bright and then faded back to the warm purple glow it started with, it shifted and slowly coiled around his left leg, disappearing into the ground.

"You did it," Harry whispered into Draco's ear. Draco barely heard him, it was real, it had worked perfectly.

"We did it," he replied, glancing at Hermione, who looked just as ecstatic as he felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: given the in universe context of a singular meaningful breath being what connects you to your soulmate, breathplay is common practiced and considered sappy and romantic, that is the reason why it's so under negotiated before Draco and Harry go ahead and do it. (You can @ me about it after the fest and I will debate you about it)
> 
> Are you team Puffin, team Pony, team sheep, or team stay at the hotel and try to fuck?
> 
> Comment and let me know if you knew who Kópakonan is or you had to google her when you read it in the tags.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets the recognition she deserves, Draco is only a little bit of an asshole about it.

Draco fiddled with the clasp of his robes and straightened his shirt. He checked his hair in the mirror one last time and then turned to make sure his robes fell just right, making his shoulders seem broader and his figure fuller.

"Dad, come on! Let's go, everyone's already seated," Scorpius complained, tugging on the cuffs of his shirt.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Draco huffed and slid on his family ring, patted down his breast pocket and let out a breath when he felt the outline of a little box. "Let's go."

The Chiron Awards committee had spared no expenses that year. The hall was elegantly decorated and fit a sea of round tables, lit by intricately carved candles, the walls hosted paintings of departed benefactors and past winners, witnessing the history of medicine being made from beyond the grave. The glass doors to the villa's gardens were all open, letting in the sweet scent of spring flowers and the faint sound of water from the fountains. Draco stood straight and made his way to the front where their table was already almost full, with Hermione, Ron, Pansy, Astoria and Harry. Draco smiled at them and gently squeezed Harry's shoulder before sitting down. He'd made an effort tonight, showing up in gala uniform, his beard neatly trimmed and his hair freshly cut. Draco ached to run his fingers through it but he resisted, he had a plan for the night.

The night progressed slowly with delicious food intermingled with speeches in memoriam of departed researchers and benefactors of the foundation and the awarding of the less prestigious prizes.

"Why are you so fidgety?" Hermione whispered after the third course of overpriced (it's for charity) food. "You don't really think we don't have it in the bag?"

Draco snorted and shook his head. "You'll see."

They had to wait until the end of the night for the big moment. Draco had barely been able to eat and the champagne tasted like ash in his mouth. Hermione, for all her bravado, still reached for his hand under the table when the head of the committee approached the podium and made a vague speech about the scientific community celebrating progress and the betterment of care.

"The Chiron Award for outstanding progress in medical research this year goes to..." Draco held his breath for what felt like a lifetime, seasons changed in the time that man opened the envelope and Hermione crushed his fingers until "Healer Hermione Granger-Weasley for her research on single wix soulbond settling co-authored by Draco Malfoy."

The room erupted in cheers as they stood to collect their prize. Hermione was handed the kitschy centaur statuette and a sealed envelope, she let Draco give the thank you speech.

"Healer Granger agreed to let me give the speech so I could brag on her behalf. This award has been years in the making, and I think we should start by thanking Granger herself for doggedly pursuing a solution to what part of the community refused to acknowledge as a problem."

She smiled awkwardly; her hands too full to really do anything except give Draco looks he could easily pretend he wasn't seeing.

"Some acknowledgements have to go to Pansy Parkinson and the St Mungo's administrative board who supported Granger's effort for the better part of a decade, Ron Weasley, I'm sure she would say something as saccharine as you being a wonderful husband and excellent father to her children. I suppose you've done an ok job at keeping us all fed and watered when the work took over more time and space than should have been afforded." He paused to let the crowd laugh and enjoy the sight of Ron's ear turn an impressive shade of red. "Hush, Granger, I'm not done." He waved her off when she tried to take the spot at the podium.

"Luna Lovegood, without whose irreplaceable input we could have never gotten the change in perspective needed to see what we already knew. Now onto the important part." He took a deep breath and let the audience collect themselves. "Thanks to Granger's tireless work every wix now has a new chance at life, and more than that she has opened up new frontiers to how we relate to one another. She'd seen what I spent years catching up to and did it out of selfless dedication to the betterment of the lives of people around her. She allowed me the chance to stand up here with life opening up ahead of me and say this." He did his best to keep his hands steady as he pulled the box out of his breast pocket and opened it to reveal the ring nestled in velvet inside it. "Harry James Potter, will you marry me?"

* * *

Harry had done his best to avoid galas, fundraisers and public outings as much as possible, especially formal occasions, but when your best friend and your boyfriend get nominated for one of the most prestigious awards in their field you put on your gala uniform, make an effort to scrub up nice and be there.

The food was passable but Draco looked edible in his white shirt and formal robes, all buttoned up in his brocade vest, with his hair shiny and soft tied back at the nape of his neck. Harry wanted to unlace all those stupid little buttons and lick him. But there would be time for that later. However things turned out here, Harry was sure he was going to make Draco's night.

He was the loudest cheer when Draco and Hermione's names were announced, standing up with Ron to keep clapping until Draco gestured to the audience to settle. He snickered at the mention of Ron and earned himself an elbow in the ribs for his trouble. Worth it.

"Thanks to Granger's tireless work every wix now has a new chance at life, and more than that she has opened up new frontiers to how we relate to one another." Harry felt a warm ache at the thought of what might have happened if he hadn't come to her, or if he'd given up on the counselling sessions with Sarah. That had been the place where he'd found the courage to look at the dark place he'd gone to and maybe find his way back, thanks in no small part to Draco's incessant needling and prodding. For better or worse they wouldn't be the men they were today without each other's influence. He wouldn’t have had the courage to try and start fixing things with Ginny, Luna and the kids. "She'd seen what I spent years catching up to and did it out of selfless dedication to the betterment of the lives of people around her. She allowed me the chance to stand up here with life opening up ahead of me and say this. Harry James Potter, will you marry me?"

Harry's jaw dropped when he saw the ring and shot to his feet, "YOU FUCKER!"

The audience gasped, the shock breaking the soft sighs and  _ Awws _ that rolled through the crowd at the wedding proposal. The quiet whispering started immediately, spreading through the hall like ink in water.

Harry marched up the stage to a frozen Draco and pulled out a small box from his pocket. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, will  _ you  _ marry  _ me? _ "

Draco regained his faculties impressively quickly. "No, no, no, Potter, I asked first," he argued.

"Well, I asked second," Harry retorted, cocking his head and plopping the box down on the podium next to Draco's.

"Just say yes so we can have dessert!" Hermione interjected.

Harry smiled and reached for Draco's forearm, pulling him closer. "Yes, I will marry you."

"When it mattered, I beat you to the snitch fair and square," Draco hummed with a satisfied smile. He took the ring out of the box and carefully slid it on Harry's finger, the twisted gold band settled perfectly against the warm brown of Harry's skin.

"On a technicality," Harry replied, doing the same for Draco. He brushed his thumb over the titanium and platinum band, feeling the grooves under the pad of his finger before pulling Draco in for a gentle kiss.

"You two are banned from all my future press conferences," Hermione hissed as they left the stage to go back to the table.

"Don't worry, I only plan on marrying him once," Draco assured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment to show support for Hermione who has to deal with those two all the time.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised a happy ending, didn't I?
> 
> Thank you if you read this far, I hope you enjoyed the journey(s).
> 
> Once again thank you to the mods who put together this fest and my wonderful beta that helped bring this story to light.

Draco was happy.

He stepped out into the sun of May and he knew the gentle constraint of the corset vest he was wearing was the only thing that kept his heart from beating out of his chest. It was all he'd imagined and more. He was surrounded by family, his mother waiting for him under the dais next to Andromeda. Scorpius was sitting in the first row with Pansy, Astoria and Daphne, sporting an impressive pregnant belly, and then there was Blaise smiling next to Narcissa, just waiting for him to get a move on and get there. He took his time with the trip, enjoying the way the breeze played with the light fabric of his robes. With every gust of wind, the fabric shifted, bringing new highlights to the sun, letting the pearl white gleam in the light.

He kissed his mother's cheek and then turned around, just in time to see Harry step out the door into the garden, looking regal in his burgundy and gold sherwani, the stole was draped too perfectly for him to have done it alone but Draco was too busy taking in the gold jewellery on his chest and hands to really fault him for it. He was glowing and Draco couldn't tear his eyes off of him as he almost sprinted down the aisle in his hurry to join him.

If pressed the following days, Draco couldn't recall a single thing his mother or Andromeda said during the ceremony, but even decades later he could recite back the vows Harry and he exchanged that day.

"Draco, I love you, not out of need but out of choice, with the freedom to take you with me, share with you one love, one lifetime. They say love manifests as one breath worth of life, that ineffable moment of truth and creation, but we get to build our love one day at a time, we have the privilege to choose each other day after day until our last breath."

"Harry, I make our love out of water, let it be ever-changing and indestructible, following the asperities of life to accompany us to sea. I make our love out of blood so it can be undeniable. Let our bond be sealed with the breath of your lungs, as long as it sustains us both."

Draco was happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment if you like perfect bookends and sappy wedding vows.

**Author's Note:**

> And we're off, remember to leave comments and support your local angst dealer.


End file.
